Starting Over Again

One thing I’ve learned is that I enjoy being me more when I take better care of myself. I watch my inputs and outputs — the quality, timing, and dosage of my food, rest, exercise, social time, media time, creativity, spirituality, all of it.

When external life is in a groove - my kid’s homework is getting done on time, my parents’ health is good, the weather is how I like it, I find it easier to stay on course with the inputs and outputs I get to control. The routine works.

Weirdly, at the times when I need the most support from my own “self-care” practices — when life is life-y, when my I’m worried or scared about things I can’t control, when I’m grieving a loss, or stressing a future result — those are the times my first impulse is to mess with the basics: Stay up too late hunting for the perfect sofa online, postpone breakfast in favor of a longer hike, cancel my regular meet up, eat sugar, stop writing.

Deep in my soul brain I know that sticking to routine is the better way for me to get through good times and bad, that it’s all an opportunity for learning and growth, that I could do myriad mindfulness practices and resist the urge to self-sabotage. I could literally keep going.

And yet, when it is rough, when change is afoot, my default is to do more running around, more activity, add more pressure rather than take it all down a notch, breathe, cry, run a warm bath, go to bed early, and tell myself, “It’s going to be okay. It is okay. You are okay. The sofa’s okay. It’s sad. It’s infuriating. It’s not how you wanted it to be. You’re not how you wanted you to be. I love you anyway and I’m going to take good care of you as you are.”Now go to bed, and start over tomorrow. I’m gonna keep going.