As I write this, I am 64 ounces into a laxative-infused Gatorade binge and counting myself lucky I get this option to prep for my colonoscopy tomorrow. You see my best friend from college, Gerritt VanWagenen, Jr. was not so lucky. He was taken by colon cancer before most people think about getting a colonoscopy. I have been blessed to reach the age when self care means the difference between bending over to tie my shoes and sitting down for balance (I do both, depending).
For me, self care is everything from running twice a week, eating home cooked meals, enjoying the companionship of my boyfriend to listening to playlists that inspire me or help me feel and express my sorrow. Self care is knowing what is good for me and listening to that part of me that knows. It’s doing the dishes at night so that I’m greeted by an empty sink in the morning. It’s putting the phone away and relaxing with a movie or a good book (currently slowly digesting the 1619 Project). It is writing at 8:30 a.m. with friends on Zoom.
Saying what there is to say is also important for me. Speaking up when women’s body parts are used as an insult, or jokes are made about my domestic responsibilities is not frivolous. It is protecting the integrity of the love I share. It is self care.
Finally, putting myself in the company of friends who love and admire me for all of who I am, beauty and warts, provides the feedback, energy and spiritual nourishment that I in turn pour out at work, in my coaching and gets ploughed right back into those relationships. It’s a blessed cycle.
This has not always been this way, but I am confident that it will be.