It seems I can’t scroll through social media without seeing someone post about her ‘self-care’ … a buzz word that’s all over the place … All. The. Time. I don’t know about you, but I’m intimidated by the suggestions that are commonly thrown out: a luxurious bath, a long walk … these are things I can never afford myself.
I’m sure these grandiose notions of self-care must serve some women, but they honestly cause this simple girl more anxiety — because I can’t handle that much work. Putting together the necessary ingredients for a luxurious bath sounds exhausting. Which essential oils do I use? Epsom salt or no? Is my tub even clean enough for a bath?
Coordinating when to actually take the long walk would require a good deal of risk assessment. Do I go in the mornings before sunrise, and risk living a real-life ‘SVU’ plot? Or do I go when I get off work and the sun has set and risk living a real-life ‘Criminal Minds’ plot?
My self-care in recent weeks has looked like me finally putting my foot down and telling my 6-year-old that she’s not allowed to talk to me while I’m in the shower. Mommy gets 10 minutes to herself.
When my husband works late, I indulge in a nice Schitt’s Creek binge. I give myself permission to ignore the things I should be doing and instead wrap up in my favorite IKEA blanket. I’m trying very hard not to connect with people right now.
You see what I mean. Self-care doesn’t have to be extravagant. I’m perfectly happy to brew a nice cup of English black tea, splurge with my handheld milk frother, sit down with my MacBook, open up my Pages, and tell my daughter we can play Uno this afternoon. Mommy’s writing right now.