Self-Care for No Other Reason Than Deserving It

This post is as much about processing my own feelings as it is about sharing them with the world.

I spent last weekend at the Women’s Fitness Summit in Kansas City. A fitness conference designed by women for women, the Summit is an annual event hosted by Girls Gone Strong, for which I’ve contributed as an editor for the past year.

Friday and Saturday were amazing. I spent the days meeting so many strong and inspiring women. (And I mean mentally, emotionally, and physically strong.) I listened to speakers who are leaders in their fields—ranging from sports nutrition and training to body image and self-worth—from 9am to 5pm each day. I was part of a group of more than 150 women that is dedicated to lifting each other, and all women, up.

It gets you pumped up. But, like body activist Erin Brown said on Saturday, the amazing high of being in such an environment often comes with a pretty brutal come-down when we get home, are physically separated from one another, and try to marry the truths of the weekend with our daily life, which, often, doesn’t go according to plan A.

Erin Brown at the Women’s Fitness Summit last weekend.

So, at her suggestion, we each took our pen and paper and wrote a letter to our future selves. It would be a letter that we could read when we found ourselves in that pretty-close-to-inevitable spot. It would encourage us and give advice on what to do in that situation.

I struggled with my letter. I didn’t really know what to say to my future me, so I scribbled a few lines, called it “good enough,” and observed the other women writing, writing, writing.

As I’m writing this, 16 hours later on an unscheduled flight home—I was supposed to be at the Summit’s Sunday “bonus day” right now—I feel like I’m really writing my letter to my future self. Or, maybe, to current myself.

At 4:00 this morning, Amin, my boyfriend, called me. As soon as I saw his name on my phone, my heart simultaneously sank into my stomach and rose into my throat. Amin is a police officer. He works the midnight shift. And every night, when I go to sleep, fears over his safety—and the safety of our future—linger in my mind. I try to convince myself that, when I wake up, he will be by my side in bed.

But however many miles away, with him at work and me in Kansas City, his name on my phone startled me awake. “I’m OK, but I’m at the hospital,” he said. The preface kept me calm. “My dad just died.”

Amin’s father, Ali, had struggled and languished for far too long. And while I could vent about the details of his condition for pages and pages, that’s not the point of this post or letter or whatever you want to call it.

The point is, reality hit hard. And it didn’t even wait for me to get home from my amazing weekend of positivity and possibilities.

So… what do I have to say to my future (or current) self? I feel like the one thing that keeps echoing in my head is “take care of yourself.”

As I type that, I honestly feel like I need to qualify that statement. Maybe it would come off better if I said that while being there for Amin and his family, I need to care for myself as well? Maybe if I said that I need to take care of myself so that I can better care for my boyfriend?

No. I need to take care of myself because I deserve it. Period. That’s surprisingly hard to say, though. I think of Erin again here. During her seminar, she spoke about the fact that men don’t go golfing (or maybe it was another activity; I don’t remember) because they know that taking time for things they enjoy makes them better husbands and fathers. That really hit me.

I’m a stereotypical woman in the fact that I’m always worried about taking care of others. And the thought of giving myself permission to be “selfish” is both liberating and scary. After all, selfish has a pretty negative connotation. What will others think of me prioritizing myself? Again, my internal dialogue flips to consider everyone but myself.

But I’m worth considering. I’m worth more than that, actually. I’m worth my own self-care for no other reason than that I’m a human being.

*****

Two days have passed, and I’m back to trying to finish my thoughts here and, yes, take care of myself. This week is proving that when it rains, it monsoons. Within 48 hours of Amin’s father passing, we had to put his 15-year-old best friend and dog, Wolfie, to sleep.

We knew it would have to be soon. And on Sunday, when Ali passed, we already knew it would have to be this week. But Monday morning, when Wolfie, who in years past had lost a leg and undergone radiation cancer treatments, couldn’t lift his head, his needs were apparent.

And, if it hadn’t been, it certainly was when Wolfie had his first seizure just minutes after the veterinarian came to the house to lay Wolfie to rest, covered up in his favorite blanket in his favorite spot in the house. The seizure was terrifying and heartbreaking, and Wolfie likely wouldn’t have made it through the night, which undoubtedly would have been the worst of nights.

Luckily, the veterinarian, who interestingly spoke in soothing tones and ultimate truths of compassion, love, and self-care, was able to stop the seizure within seconds. And when Wolfie was ultimately at peace and we said goodbye to the veterinarian in the driveway of Amin’s parents’ house, he told us to take care of ourselves. He didn’t know what we had already been through, but he said he would call us in a couple of days to see how we were holding up.

So what am I doing to take care of myself? Right now, that’s getting at least eight hours of sleep each night, granting myself moments alone when I need them, moving regularly, whether by stretching or going on a short run, and telling my editors that I just won’t be able to work this week. All are difficult for me, as they aren’t my default settings—especially in times when I’m “supposed” be the shoulder to lean on.

I am that shoulder to lean on. But I’m also trying to lean on my own shoulder, if that even makes sense. And not just because it makes me sturdier for those around me, but because I deserve it.