I heard the quote “self-care isn’t me first, it’s me also” in a yoga video once. Truer words were never spoken, but they were apparently first spoken by author, L.R. Knost. Just wanna give due props here.
We, maybe just me, sometimes think of self-care as self-ish. I oddly don’t think of it as selfish when it pertains to other people, only when it pertains to me. I know, makes no sense. I tout the benefits of self-care often and to anyone who will listen. Meanwhile my mind never rests, overthinking and overanalyzing 24/7. Shit’s exhausting. No rest for the weary.
When it comes to my own self-care, well, let’s just say maybe I should start taking my own advice.
A couple weeks ago I caught the plague. Unless you live under a rock, you’ve undoubtedly seen on the news that there is a perfect storm of viruses now circulating around wreaking havoc: Covid, the flu, norovirus, kick-you-in-the-ass virus, etc. I don’t know which one I had. I didn’t take a Covid test or anything. Do people still do that?
“I never get sick.” Ha, words I guess I can’t say anymore. I knew it was happening but I tried to brush it off with “eh, I’m just tired.” I thought I was overworked, over-holidayed, over-everythinged.
Luckily the brunt of my affliction didn’t start until after Christmas. New Year’s wasn’t spared though. That’s okay. I sat around New Year’s Day and watched the traditional Philadelphia spectacle that is the Mummers Parade.
People in other cities must think Philadelphians are downright nutso when they see this parade. Spoiler alert: we are.
Anyway, it’s January 10th and I’m still feeling the effects of my body being ravaged by a microscopic assassin. The worst is over, but now I think I have post-viral fatigue. Who knew that was a thing? Every day is getting a little better but man, I didn’t know a human could sleep as much as I have in the past two weeks.
I know I needed the sleep, needed to let my body rest and heal. Needed to not do anything too physically or mentally taxing. But I felt guilty about it. Felt guilty lulling the days away on the couch and watching the idiot box for hours. I felt guilty failing to keep up with mundane things like laundry and vacuuming let alone exercising and writing.
Guilty because I felt like I was wasting time. Guilty because I was putting my needs ahead of everyone and everything else, including the dust bunnies.
Guilt–that great white shark that never sleeps.
Now I’m no overachiever. At least in my mind, though my therapist tells me differently. I’m not my sister or the United States Army who both do more before 9 am than most people do in a day.
I’m also no Mark Cuban who wakes up at 6 am everyday and deals with his 100 different businesses before he has his morning coffee.
But I am a do-everything-myself-kinda-person. Control over the uncontrollable by taking care of everything on my own. “Help? Ha! What’s that? Don’t want it, don’t need it, never even heard of it.”
“I can handle it all on my own.” My life mantra since age 10.
Trauma, pain, a chaotic childhood, yeah, there’s many reasons why someone adopts an “I’ll just take care of it myself” attitude. It’s a wacky, self-defense mechanism of sorts developed and perfected over many years. I can and will handle everything, even if I don’t want to or everything becomes too much.
My own happiness is secondary. Mostly because deep down I never really felt I deserved it.
Sad, true. Survival instincts often are.
No matter what comes at me, I can deal with it.
But just because you can, does that mean you should?
Suffering and hardship doesn’t have to be the default.
Yet life kinda makes you think it is when shit sucks and then keeps on sucking.
Being sick sucks.
Not taking care of yourself sucks worse.
When other people get sick I usually say “take the day off, rest, recuperate.” When I get sick, I feel like I’m letting people down, that work, friends and family should still all come first before my convalescence; if not in body then at least in mind.
As I sat down today, January 31st, to finally finish this writing, now fully rid of the remnants of the plague fatigue (yeah, that shit lasted a long time), I first felt guilty because It’s been so long since I’ve written. I started berating myself saying that I’ve been a lazy waste of selfish space.
Shame all over the place.
Enough!
I had to stop, take a breath and remind my brain that caring for myself and not being insanely productive lately wasn’t being selfish. Instead I had to say “me too.” No, not as in the #MeToo movement kinda way but in the my wants and needs are just as important as everyone’s else’s kinda way.
No more important and no less.
Do you feel guilty when you do something just for yourself?
Put all that mentally destructive, self-blaming shit aside.
Be thoughtful and kind to others of course. But be thoughtful and kind to yourself as well.
You don’t have to be first.
But you do have to be also.
❤️
CM
1/31/25
