Real Life Self Care?
As October winds down, there is less and less natural sunlight in the morning, and the days darken earlier. For many people, less light contributes to less energy in the body. Historically in northern climates, late autumn and winter were seasons of slowing down and conserving energy and warmth in order to survive harsh winters. In our current world we don’t slow down for any season of the year, save a few days or weeks of vacation booked when we can afford the time off.
The demands of life don’t slow, but the flush of new energy that many experience in early September has waned, and for most people I meet with, life feels…full. Busy to the point of burnout. I hear metaphors from individuals trying to find words for their reality, and with some, we search conjointly for the right language for days that feel like too much: life is a treadmill, a hamster wheel; I am treading water; I am trying to stay afloat; the storm clouds are heavy and about to burst; I am in a dry desert. I am in a fog and can’t feel, think or see straight.
The desire for deeper healing is beautiful, but hard to make space for when exhaustion isn’t tended to. Self care is often touted as a solution for surviving our busy lives: taking moments to oneself to find ways to rest and rejuvenate. Self care can be helpful, but not if it is approached as a way to fix our deeper suffering. Not if it feels like another task to add to the never ending list; another thing a person should be doing, but can’t find time and motivation for. What about anyone in caregiving roles, spending significant hours tending elderly relatives or children? What about those in demanding careers, or individuals navigating seasons of significant loss, divorce or other turmoil? It may not be reasonable to expect ourselves to develop a self care routine that incorporates every component we might find renewing, or to expect these changes to address the pain from the rest of our lives, immediately. All of that takes time,and is a process.
I think about the concept of glimmers: in order to feel supportive, it doesn’t have to be a radiant moment.What about that small glimmer of light through the heavy clouds. That clear patch of blue after a storm.What would feel like that to you? Is there a way to acknowledge the parts of yourself that feel like selfcare is impossible, just a drop in the bucket, or another task on your list. Is it possible to acknowledge those parts, but also be curious about the possibility of doing something small for yourself today? It might be a few deep breaths while making coffee. It could be 30 minutes or 2 minutes. Listening to a song that helps you reorient to what you care about. Engaging in something creative. Connecting with a loved one,or allowing your body to move in a way that feels good. Notice what brings a fraction more spaciousness to your day, and see what it would be life to offer yourself that more often.
Notes