you have a divine responsibility

 

I've been trying to practice a little self-care lately, not because things have been particularly tough on me but because they've been really hard for a few people I love. My brother, who has mild vascular dementia and has been losing ground recently, had a slight stroke. It wasn't too bad, but it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. While he was still in rehab, his wife ended up in the ER with severe abdominal pain. Because they live far away, it has been hard for me to help them, leaving me worried for them and feeling frustrated. Sleepless. Helpless. It's exhausting. So, I decided to give myself a break, which meant transferring a few tasks to my procrastination bin, napping without feeling guilty about it, and getting together with a friend who always cheers me up.

The issue of self-care is important when stress is high, especially for caretakers (and empaths like me).

Fortuitously, this week I came across a writing prompt that asked:

"What is your self-care practice?"

It was a multiple-choice question. The answers included: journaling, mindful movement (such as yoga or qigong), meditation, listening to music or podcasts, and reading. I chose meditation because I practice daily, and it helps keep me steady and strong, calm and compassionate. But later, on a path through the woods, I realized that walking is another self-care practice of mine. Walking in the woods, or near a stream, or by the lake. In the mountains. On the beach. Walking is a mindful and meditative practice for me. I like to think it helps keep me healthy. That it strengthens my bones. That it keeps my mind active and engaged. It promotes physical, mental, emotional, and even spiritual well-being.

"Walk as if you are kissing the Earth

with your feet."

~Thich Nhat Hanh~

In her book, "Welcoming the Unwelcome," Pema Chodron phrases it a little differently. She asks:

"When things are really tough--like you're scared, you're lonely, you're angry, 

everything's falling apart, during difficult times--

in what do you take refuge?"

Do you try to avoid the situation, or distract or comfort yourself by streaming Netflix, by overeating, or by turning to alcohol or drugs? To gambling? To sex? Do you make up stories that justify your anger, or jealousy, or disappointment? Do you dwell in self-pity? Blame? This is not self-care at all.

"Be good to yourself.

If you don't take care of your body

where will you live?"

~Kobi Yamada~

Self-care came up again when I was talking with a colleague who has been struggling with depression. Not sleeping well. Not eating well. I posed this question:

"If you had a patient who was struggling the way you are,

how would you care for them?"

She responded by saying she would prescribe an antidepressant, and something for sleep, and she would recommend therapy. Meaning, she would take good care of her patient, even though she wasn't seeking the same good care for herself. 

Do you take care of yourself? Do you believe in extreme self-sacrifice such as foregoing meals, exercise, or sleep in order to do your job? Do you suffer in silence? Do you have trouble concentrating, or making decisions? Are you in pain?

Self-care is a reflection of self-love and self-respect.

"Self-care is a divine responsibility."

~multiple attributions~

It has to be gentle, patient, and compassionate. If you wonder how to practice self-care, think about caring for a new puppy or a newborn baby. Then show yourself the same attention, concern, kindness, and joy. You'll feel better, and you'll be healthier, too. 

"Whatever is good for your soul,

do that."

~author unknown~

jan

how telling your story can help you heal

 

It doesn't take a stretch of the imagination to understand how hearing or reading just the right story at just the right time can help with healing. For example, you might gain a new perspective on an issue that has been troubling you. Perhaps you've been struggling with guilt after a friend committed suicide. You pick up a book like "The Ticking Is the Bomb" by Nick Flynn whose mother took her own life. His story looks at suicide differently. He considers the inevitability of it given the course of his mother's life. After reading it, you might see things a little differently. Maybe it wasn't your fault your friend found life unbearable. Perhaps you didn't miss the clues because there were none. A layer of guilt falls away.

Healing.

"The book I read after my mother died,

the how-to-deal-with-trauma book,

had failed to say when change could resume,

when one could go on."

~Nick Flynn~

~"The Ticking Is the Bomb"~

 

Or maybe your friend has been diagnosed with cancer, and it doesn't look good for her. You have no idea what to say or do for her, no clue how to help. Then you pick up a book like "Talk Before Sleep" by Elizabeth Berg, and you learn all the ways you can comfort and encourage her and even bring a touch of humor to the situation. 

 

Healing. 

 

It may be a bit harder to grasp the idea that telling or writing your own story can also be a healing practice. But it is.

 

Maybe for you, anger sometimes erupts without provocation. Perhaps you feel anxious even when life is going well. Maybe despair blankets everything you do for reasons you don't understand. Or a particular song always brings you to tears. You can't help it. Why?

 

"We don't write what we know.

We write what we wonder about."

~Richard Peck~

 

Intrusive thoughts and feelings are the shadows of traumatic memories. Remember the time your father hit your mother in a fit of rage? You were so angry you wanted to hit him back, so scared you didn't dare move, and you couldn't run away. You felt helpless as a child, and now you feel worthless as an adult.

 

Perhaps, in your family, you never knew when the front door would open and your father would come home drunk, and even though you were already in bed, he'd find you there...

 

Maybe that was the song you listened to so you didn't have to hear your parents argue.  

 

Your anger, or sadness, or fear needs to find a time, or a place, or a name to explain it. You need to know its identity, its source, and its setting in order to renegotiate your relationship with it.

 

Telling your story puts you in control. It helps you think about what happened. It helps you understand why. You get to decide how it ends. And that can help you heal.

 

 "At any given moment

you have the power to say,
'This is not how my story is going to end.'"
~Christine Mason Miller~

 jan