In terms of practicing self care, there were about a thousand things I can think to do that would be nice to do for myself prior to Corona virus taking over the world; I could’ve book a massage or bought some new music or got my hair and nails done. Those things were ways of physically pampering myself, but I don’t know that they’re my definition of “kindness.”
To be kind, I have to stop being an asshole to myself.
What is the most miserable act that I engage in? Well, it’s something that creeps in, steals my happiness and ability to like myself, and makes me to worry about what I am doing wrong, but gives me no idea how to fix it.
What causes the most hurt is self-loathing. I question all my abilities. I compare myself to other people; people I have nothing in common with. I judge myself by television and movie standards. I beat myself emotionally when I don’t live up to those lofty goals.
The kindest thing I can do for myself is to practice self-acceptance.
In the Serenity Prayer, “we ask for serenity to accept the things we cannot change, the courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
After many years (and God knows how many sessions of therapy) I have isolated a few things that I am going to accept about myself RIGHT NOW.
I am an introvert. I feel more comfortable alone or in the presence of just a few people who know me well. Sometimes, I feel downright overwhelmed in a big group. I will never be a socialite. I will never want to spend my free time with a ton of people, part of group or committee or (gag!) team. I was the kind of kid my mother had to force out the door to play with the other kids. I am not going to suddenly develop a big, loud group of friends to go out with, nor will I feel a need to invite them over for fancy parties.
And you know what? I don’t have to feel like an asshole for that.
I will never have a perfect, spotless, well-organized house. You know that button, “a clean house is a sign of a wasted life?” It’s kind of like that. It’s a total waste of time to fluff pillows and re-stack coasters when they’re just going to get messed up as soon as I sit down to relax. I don’t understand the need to have “everything in its place.” Sometimes, I mop my floors once a month. I only mop the bedroom floors once a year. I forget to clean the bathtub for weeks. I have piles of unread mail, toys and library books on every table. I only dust when I move something and suddenly you can see where the dust ISN’T.
And you know what? I’m probably not going to change. This is not about cleanliness. My house isn’t filthy. There aren’t piles of old food laying around or trash on the floor. I pick up and do dishes and sweep up crumbs. Occasionally, I wipe everything down. I do the basic things and keep the house from looking and smelling like a garbage dump. I have better things to do than worry about the dust bunnies under my bed.
I’m getting older and it’s okay. When I was 20, I weighed 90 lbs. I hated that I couldn’t seem to gain weight no matter what. I had tiny boobs and I wanted bigger boobs and a nicer ass. And I remember being 25, happily seeing that I’d filled out. Then came the baby…I turned 30, and now I cannot believe how easy it is to gain five pounds. All I have to do is look in the window of a bakery and my buttons start straining.
At 20, I didn’t need to exercise. I worked a lot of overtime. I ate a ton of fast food. I came and went as I pleased. I’d easily get up for work after being out all night. I was fine on two-and-a-half hours of sleep. I am not that girl anymore. Now, I’m in bed by 10 and still drag for most of the day. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck when my kid wants me to chase her. I get nauseous if I eat too much junk food.
I am not going to get any younger. Those days are not coming back. It’s time to stop treating my body like I am still a 20-year old.
I am not a perfect mother. I am going to stop feeling neglectful because I didn’t make my own baby food. I don’t worry about organic produce and I allow my kid to play in dirt…OUTSIDE!
I never even ONCE considered not getting my kid vaccinated and I didn’t childproof my house at all. You want know why? Because I survived childhood. My parents never even CONSIDERED any of these things.
And guess what else? I bottle-fed my kid: COW’S MILK FORMULA. I tried the alternatives and she was colicky anyway! Everywhere you turn, there are people who “tsk tsk” at other parents for making different decisions than they did for their own kids. I don’t give a shit about that – I did what I think was right for my child and I will not feel bad about it.
When I was pregnant, I realized that Ben and I both had perfectly good childhoods; two totally opposite types of mothers. We each needed therapy anyway. I resolved try to do what I think my kid needs me to do. If what I do doesn’t match up with what the Mother Of The Year Committee thinks is best, that’s okay.
I am sure there are plenty of ways that my inner asshole will attempt to undermine my self-confidence. But maybe if I accept these things about myself, maybe the simple act of accepting and allowing my small imperfections, will empower that other part of me. The one who actually LIKES who I am.
I’m going to kill the self-loathing with kindness.
For a boy of only three, you have quite a story. Any attempt to write it all down will be like a Polaroid picture of an HD film – nothing will capture the life in your eyes. I am okay with that, I just need to put this all down.
My son, you are loved more than anyone could ever tell you. I know EVERYONE says that about their children, but you truly are. When we made the decision to place you with another family, I made sure that your bio-dad and I were on the same page – longing for your perfect future.
I am sorry – deeply, painfully sorry – that I could not see through your adoptive Mom’s lies. I kick myself for that. We’d hand-picked that family, a big family, for you. You have no shortage of siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles. Even before the whole of you would fill the face of a quarter, I knew you deserved that.
I just found out that your parents are divorcing. I am sorry. I never wanted you to grow up in a single-parent family. I missed out on having a dad growing up, so I know the value of having two adults around to love and cherish you. I know two incomes are easier than one. We placed you because we were weak in our relationship and we wanted you raised in a mature, loving, rock-solid marriage. Now, I find out the marriage we trusted was a sham.
I know that your family still loves you dearly.
My son, my child, I am wrestling with the idea of fighting for custody. Your Mom has recently displayed violent tendencies. I cannot, in good conscience, leave you in that situation. Please forgive me. Your Dad adores you, as do your sisters and brother. I hate that I’m thinking of fighting for custody, but I don’t know how anyone can raise 5 children as a single parent.
I wish there was a crystal ball for me to shake, to see what the right answer is. I wish trusted the woman I picked to raise you, the woman that was there for all of your ultrasounds, your birth, your firsts.
I am having problems trusting myself at all. The decision to place you was one thing I’d been solid in.
I knew I had done what was right. Except now? Even that is shaky.
It’s very easy to say you’re going to do self-care. And for a lot of people what that phrase means is face masks, fancy water, maybe some yoga. The reality is that self-care is everything we do to take care of (brace yourselves…) ourselves. It’s basic hygiene. It’s taking your medications on time. It’s drinking a glass or two of water and eating some kind of fruit or vegetable. It’s getting an adequate amount of sleep. So today, decide you will commit to a basic level of self-care this week. Think of it as a challenge. Need a list? Here you go! Let’s pick 3.
drink three glasses of water- set an alarm if you need a reminder
take a quick shower
put on clean clothes
do a small load of laundry
take your medications
eat something with protein and a veggie and/or fruit
go to bed at a reasonable hour for you
put your device down for 1 whole hour, 3 if you like a challenge
Got something you’d like to add to the Basics, leave it in the comments and I’ll add it to next weeks list!
I’ve found a sitter for my kids and left the house to keep my big feelings away from them. Flipping through my phone contacts…I don’t see anyone I haven’t bothered with my drama in the last few days so I give up. Who needs to talk anyway? They don’t really want me to call; they just put up with me and my need to process everything out loud.
I need to stop blocking this out; I’m going to explode if I keep shoving this down.
I find my Rage Music Playlist – a lot of Disturbed, KMFDM, Nine Inch Nails, some Slipknot and Linkin Park. I get inside my head. I let go and allow myself to cry, hating every second of the pathetic sound and hating more how stupid I feel when I let it go. I shut back down when all of the thoughts whisper…worthlessguiltysinneruglybadmotherbadwifebadchristian…too wrapped up in my own drama to be useful to anyone.
Too self-centered and overwhelmed to be a good mom. Too angry and bitter and cold and hard-hearted to save my relationship.
I drive fast and scream out the lyrics. The bass hitting my body is therapeutic. The guitar chords resonate deep inside…my mind wanders and the self-loathing thoughts kick-up again: I am not worth fighting for. Who I am is not good enough.
I hate where I am. I hate who I have turned into. I hate how barricaded I have been for so long. I hate the choices I have had to make.
As the song goes, when I first met her she was 17. I was 20. It wasn’t the best idea to be dating someone so young (once you hit 20 it should only be women in their 20s; everyone else is just a teenager) but there was something about her. We had a lot of young, awkward fun together, and for about 2 years thought we were in love. When I met another girl who was even cooler and have even larger breasts (cause that’s very important to guys in their 20s… and 30s, and 40s, and…), I broke up with her.
It broke her heart, but that’s what happens when you’re young and in love. Love at that age isn’t anything close to what it’s like at my current age (44); it can be intense and hyper-sexual and full of drama, and ours was no exception. Once it was over (side note, the girl I broke up with her for actually dumped me 3 weeks later, which broke my heart… karma’s a bitch), it wasn’t like we were done with one another. Over the years we’d hook up and mess around, but it was never a case of wanting to be back together, it was just revisiting that old thrill.
Eventually I moved to another state to be with a girl who would eventually become my wife (and even more eventually my ex-wife…). I would fly back to my home state for holidays back then, and inevitably we would continue to hook up when I was there, something I’m not terribly proud of upon reflection. But the girl I had moved to another state for was still important to me, so it was never because I wasn’t happy with her. It was, I’m ashamed to say, opportunity. It presented itself, we took advantage of it, then we moved on with our lives.
Shortly after our last encounter, she met someone and they fell madly in love, so this thing where we would randomly hook up when we saw one another came to an end. Many years went by and we lost contact with one another, which is just what happens as you grow older and live elsewhere and are no longer interested in occasional hook ups. Flash forward nearly 10 years later; the guy she fell in love with couldn’t stand where his life was going and had to leave her to move to LA to make something of himself. My wife and I were in the beginning stages of a divorce (which i have to say ultimately went surprisingly smooth), and we were both lonely as hell. So I emailed her, ostensibly to catch up with an old friend, and soon it turned into something else.
We both had gaping holes in our lives/hearts, so it was somewhat inevitable we would get back together. That was no easy feat, however, as I live on one side of the country, and she on the other. But we talked a lot (A LOT, thank the GODS long distance calling is a thing of the past…), and found we had stuff in common, aside from just liking how the other looked naked. Enough to build a relationship? Well, I was convinced there was, and even more so that this long-lost love reconnection was obviously fate and something that shouldn’t be ignored. So I went all in.
I went to see her early on, and told her then that I loved her. Did not get the reaction I had hoped for (namely, her saying it back…), and if there was ever a theme of our relationship it was that; it was not what I had hoped for. See, I’m a romantic, wear my heart on my sleeve (which makes trips to the cardiologist a breeze! *rimshot*), and so I was able to look past the many very obvious red flags because I was convinced this was meant to be. I compromised on things I never thought i would both because I thought it was what you were supposed to do when in love, and because I thought she would be willing to do the same for me. Word of advice (also from a song); there ain’t much that’s dumber than pinning your hopes on the change of another.
Eventually my divorce finalized, my house sold, and I had the means and opportunity to move to her side of the country. Things were bad almost from the start, but I remained convinced that if I just kept being patient, kept owning the foolish things I was doing that would piss her off, eventually she would recognize my true worth and finally fall in love with me. Then we’d be happy and have lots of sex and all would be right with the world. I just needed to hang in a little… bit… longer…
The problem was that was my exact mindset for most of my marriage. If I just kept doing this thing, or not doing this other thing, eventually my wife would see my worth and we’d be happy again. Amazing how you can repeat almost the exact same behavior with wildly different people. It’s almost like the problem is me, not them…
So things continued to get worse, but luckily for me I had found a job and my own place and was no longer as reliant on her. Yeah, we would fight or argue almost every time we were together, but I had my own place i could retreat to, we could both cool off and apologize, then start all over again. Also, those fights weren’t anything compared to how my ex-wife and I used to fight, so obviously I had taken a step up. Right?
No, not right. Eventually we had a Final Blowout and I had to tell her that I couldn’t be with her anymore. Which is a messed up thing to happen when you’ve moved across the country to be with someone, but was never entirely unexpected. Things weren’t terribly smooth even when we had a country between us to keep us from getting too mad at one another, but once we were in the same zip code all bets were off. I thought she was supposed to love me just because I treated her well and moved to be closer to her and always told her she was beautiful, but that’s just not how it works. You can’t flatter someone into loving you, not in any kind of real way, it’s just unfortunate I had to go through so much pain to verify that.
DoI regret it? No, not a single second, no. Regret is not something I tend to dwell on for too long if I can avoid it, and I have to look at where my life is now and ask myself if I think I’d still be here if none of it went down like it did. It’s nothing more than a glorified thought experiment because it’s impossible to know, but I’m comfortable that I did everything in my ability to make her & I work, and it ended because it was time for it to end.
I got used to being alone, got okay with who I was and what i had to offer, and eventually knew I was not going to ever compromise myself for the sake of another girl again. I started to realize who I really was and what i had to bring to a relationship, and even started to believe I was a catch. Well, I still do, because I do have a lot going for me and had to suppress a lot once i was in close quarters with her and realized there were aspects of me she absolutely hated. No more!
I vowed not to compromise and not to put up with anyone who made me feel bad about myself. I had spent almost 20 years doing that with my ex-wife, an additional two with my now ex-girlfriend, and I was done. I deserved to be treated better, and she deserved someone she could be genuinely happy with, though i know she has to be better with herself before that’s possible with someone else. But I am better with myself and know I do deserve to be truly, completely and honestly happy, and if I had to stay single, that was fine with me.
Okay, well, I didn’t mean for this to be so long, so to sum up, remember that you are your own worst enemy if you don’t confront and come to terms with the things you hate about yourself. Bad relationships are rarely the cause of just one of the people in it; they both share equal blame for reacting the way they do with their partner, and usually they don’t look internally to examine what needs they have that aren’t being met, then communicate that information, honestly, to their partner.
It’s paid off in spades for me so far, folks, I am very, very happy to say…
In terms of practicing self care, there were about a thousand things I can think to do that would be nice to do for myself prior to Corona virus taking over the world; I could’ve book a massage or bought some new music or got my hair and nails done. Those things were ways of physically pampering myself, but I don’t know that they’re my definition of “kindness.”
