Self-care

A year ago my therapist suggested I really lean into self-care and self-love. So I scheduled a mani/pedi.

I wonder if she secretly giggled at me after I left. I mean, surely a mani/pedi would cure this overwhelming sense of hopelessness from burnout, unresolved traumas, and drive for perfectionism, right?

I sort of rolled my eyes when I started down the road to self-care. I think I actually remember saying to myself, “I don’t have time for this.” Oh the irony! Self-care sounded like it was going to slow me down and be counter-productive. And I had SO. MUCH. TO. DO.

For reference, our family stats:
Number of Kids: 4
Number of Pets: 3-5 at any given moment if you count the [now deceased] hermit crab + random stray cat
Number of loads of laundry per day: 2-3
Number of dishwasher loads of dishes per day: 2
Number of buildings said children attend daily for school/childcare: 3
Daily miles driven by yours truly: 60 to 180
Average number of before/after-school activities per week: 6
Number of volunteer committees/organizations/teams Trent and I volunteered for: 8

At the time I reached out to a therapist, in addition to the above stats, I had a full time job, a part time job, Trent worked full time, and we owned an Auto Parts Store.

Of COURSE a mani/pedi would be the answer to all of life’s problems, right?

And self-love? I did/do love myself- I’m pretty amazing if you ask me! What on earth is she talking about?

Wowza.

But since I was paying for advice…. I might as well explore that- why did I feel so strongly like I HAD to accomplish so much? Who was putting that pressure on me?

You guessed it. As Mother herself said, “It’s me, hi. I’m the problem. It’s me.” I had put such high expectations of myself to achieve success, be the best, even at the cost of sleep, nutrition, and wellness. But why? How did I get here?

From a young age, I became conditioned to feel worthy of reward or rest only upon task completion, and ultimately it led to perfectionism. It was the “military way”. There wasn’t much room for mistakes or softness. Poker faces were mastered by school age. Excellence was expected. It was the baseline! Only overachievers were recognized for their efforts. A’s were fine, but A+’s? Extra credit? Now THAT’s where it was at.

Fast forward, I’m enrolled in my first semester at a small private college; Living in the dorms when my landline rings- it was my Bio 101 professor. [Shut it, Carrinton- yes we had landline phones in our dorms.]

Prof: “Katie? This is Dr. Walker.”
Me: “Oh, hi. yes, this is Katie” [mind racing- OMG what did I do? Did I forget an exam? An assignment? Shoot. Checks planner- no the Final exam is next week. I’m sure of it.]
Prof: "Yea, hey. So, I was just updating grades for the class before the final, and you do know you have 116% in the class, right?”
Me: "Oh, yes. Well, I thought I was close to 100%, but wasn’t sure. [lies-I knew.] Is that ok? Is 116% not ok?”
Prof: “Katie, 116% is unreal. I’m calling to tell you to NOT come in for the final. It’s pointless. Even if I give you a zero, you’ll still have an A+ in my class. I mean it. Don’t waste your time. You clearly have a good understanding of Biology, just… breathe a bit. Focus on your other classes that I’m sure you’re also acing and… relax. Go enjoy life a bit.”
Me: “oh. um. ok. Thank you. Are you sure? Like, just don’t show up to the final exam?”
Prof: “I’m more than sure. In fact, I’ll lock you out of the room. Do NOT come.”
Me: “…. Oh…. ok. Well, thank you.” [laughs, confused]
Prof: “You bet. Happy Holidays!”
Me: “Happy Holidays.”

I’m 100% serious. My professor told me NOT to show up for his final exam and to relax. Did I relax? Um no. I went to the library daily and nightly until it closed. I photocopied pages from my text books, highlighting words on pages and using white-out over vocabulary to test my knowledge of anatomical structures until I could regurgitate it forwards and backwards, in my sleep. I took 21+ credits per semester following university approval of academic overload my entire freshman year with a perfect 4.0 GPA. It only continued when I transferred to a public university and took on a full-time job, then an additional part time job. You read that right. I worked about 70+ hours a week while going to school full time.

I look back now and can tell you I do NOT remember much of my sophomore and junior years of college. I buried myself in work and academics so deeply, I wasn’t able to feel anything besides small, brief serotonin highs here and there: Promotions at work, a raise for job well done, a bachelor’s degree. I was always seeking the next “big thing”- the next hit or high.

Cue: Grad School. Same story, different era.

Well, let’s add motherhood. I delivered my first child mid-semester of my 2nd year of grad school, and tried to Zoom into class the same day I was discharged. My professor lovingly walked over to the camera, congratulated me, and then told me I was to take care of myself and my baby which meant I was not to even attempt to contact her or do coursework for a solid 3 weeks “or else” and then she shut the computer down. [insert nervous laugh].

I returned in-person, baby-in-tow at 3 weeks postpartum, with bells on. I do not remember much of the first 12 months of his life.

Do you see a recurring theme here? A bit too high of expectations I put on myself, perhaps?

Somehow, somewhere I had mistaken work ethic and drive as markers for success. Further, I equated success and selflessness with my own value and how much people appreciated, admired, or loved me. It poured over into everything I did: work, home, relationships….everything. I had created toxic cycles:
I can’t stop working on this until it’s perfect.
I can’t fall asleep unless the house is spotless.
I can’t nap, until the dishes are done.
I can’t talk with you about that until I get my work done.

Over the years it worsened- instead of “picking up the house” before bedtime, I was mopping my way to my bedroom nightly. My brain was no longer satisfied with good work, or great work, or even really REALLY great work. Like any addiction, eventually I needed more- bigger/higher expectations were set, for the same small hit of serotonin. Eventually, it had to be perfect work -or- I had to try so hard to achieve perfection that I reached my breaking point of exhaustion before my body would finally succumb to rest.
You guys I LIVED LIKE THIS for over 20 years.

I’ve since researched perfectionism- there’s mixed information from professionals as to whether there’s a genetic component or if it’s a learned trait (likely both!). It’s the old nature vs. nurture debate. It didn’t take me long to understand how I got here. I was raised by a perfectionistic parent- my dad. He ran a “tight ship” [did you see that Navy pun?!] so to speak. It was his way or the highway. Talking back was unacceptable, as was disagreeing with any adult; You obeyed your elders under all circumstances. The consequences? They were profound. Anything less than meeting his unreasonable expectations was met with significant disapproval, or worse- punishment by grounding, a belt, or labor. I once chrome polished his Harley Davidson motorcycle, with a toothbrush and rag. Twice. In the same day. I cannot remember to this day what I did or what expectation I didn’t meet, but I remember how I felt, “I wouldn’t make that mistake again.”

The reality was- despite being a GREAT kid, I could almost never meet the expectation. BUT on occasion when I did, or exceeded it- THEN I was rewarded. Some fun money, a ride on his Harley, a trip for ice cream, or better yet, freedom- being able to do what I wanted to do instead of being “under command”, etc. I could earn rest or reward ONLY by exceeding expectations, nothing less.

[inhale. exhale]

Sounds awful doesn’t it? Well, it was. To be honest, I had never really looked at it from this lens before. I had never dealt with that buried resentment or grieved the loss of my childhood. I was never “allowed” to- I simply had endured it, and moved on. But my body and mind kept the score.

I left home at 17 for college- turning 18 almost a full semester in. I was a child [albeit a mature, successful, child; but yet still a child]. Despite the feelings of resentment towards my dad vowing to “never” become him, that’s exactly what happened. I held myself and began to hold others to the same unrealistically high standards. With my kids- I raged when they challenged me, and I found myself saying things like, “after you get [insert 5 million unreasonable tasks] done, then you can XYZ.” I found myself so focused on my own work and career, that I could barely make eye contact to listen to them about their day. I didn’t have time for bedtime stories- there was work to be done- laundry to fold, emails to respond to, etc. I HAD to get it all done.

That was quite a difficult and emotional realization for me.

Would my own kids be sitting in therapy in 20 years as full of resentment and as unhappy as I was? If something didn’t change, I was sure they would be.

So, how do I get out of this toxic cycle? Apparently self-care. And lots of it. Fine. I’ll try it. [eyeroll]

So I scheduled the mani/pedi. And while I was sitting there, I started reading and listening to everything self-care. Frankly, it sounded awful- daily exercise, increased water intake, more sleep (which seemed unattainable, and also like I was giving up productivity time), better eating, holding firm boundaries-bleh.

But I knew staying where I was wasn’t an option. I didn’t want to pass this cycle down to my kids. One baby step at a time, I made small goals.

I was NOT going to join a gym. BUT, I could promise to walk with Apollo outside for 10 minutes a day. Just 10 minutes. Then maybe 15. Then 20. Then I added cycling on my Peleton for 15 minutes. Then 20, then 45…

I wasn’t going to drink my weight in water, but I could commit to a 12 ounce bottle of water each day. Then 2. Then 3. Then a 40 oz Stanley, then 2, then 3 of those…

I added more veggies to one meal a day. Then salads a couple days a week for lunch. Then my kids started trying an occasional veggie. And another and another.

I started listening to my body- I left some of the dishes in the sink when I was tired (but still wiped down the counters because I’m not an animal, geesh), and went to bed. I napped sometimes when I could on the weekends, in lieu of completing the revolving task list. The laundry could get folded later.

I began crawling in bed with my kids at bedtime and forcing myself to stay there for 5 minutes instead of ushering them to bed quickly and walking back to my office. And they began talking to me. They told me things that were happening in their lives that I had no idea about.

I scheduled a doctor’s appointment for labs and a check-up. I kept my dreaded dental appointments and eye exams that I often cancelled because of something “more important”.

I held boundaries with my friends and family. Even if they didn’t like it. Even if they didn’t understand it.

I asked Trent to hold a boundary with his work on the farm and we declared Tuesday nights our date night. We planned out the week and management of our family. We talked about hard things, and often the very hard things. I spoke freely about my emotions, resentment, and fears that I had never fully voiced since meeting him. I took time to process and grieve, and he let me do so freely. (I’m not crying, you’re crying.)

We talked about reducing the number of activities for the kids that were causing such stress for us and dysregulation for them. Then, we agreed to let go of many of our commitments and prioritize our relationship and our family.

Once I un-learned that I had to earn “good things” and rest, and that I could rest and have or do good things whenever I wanted, I felt SO. MUCH. BETTER.

And when you feel better, life is just, a bit easier more worth going through.

I began doing more things that I loved:

I took myself to Galena, Illinois for a day. Just me. Blaring music in my jeep, sampling ice cream and perusing shops on main street.
I visited a friend.
I went out for Margaritas with new people.
I searched and tried new recipes.
I decided I wanted to train my Apollo to be a therapy dog and enrolled him in obedience training.
I bought concert tickets.
I picked up my camera again.
and now…
I read bedtime stories.
I take my girls to the library.
I play cribbage after supper with my boys.
I nap when I’m tired.
I use my sick days when I’m sick or have a migraine instead of pushing through and I allow my kids to have sick days and even mental health days.
I take heavenly bubble baths in my soaking tub.

It’s taken me a year- an entire year with a LOT of effort and many set backs, to begin to really feel the effects of self-care. I now know, it was never about the mani-pedi. Self-care for me was/is establishing boundaries and holding space for myself while self-love is knowing my value wasn’t/isn’t based on my productivity or other’s opinions of myself. I was more than enough all along. I always knew it, but just didn’t really get it, ya know?

If you reached this point and are thinking, “Well, yea, Katie. Duh.” then good for you. “May your days be merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be white.” Also- you could’ve shared a few tips back in college, k?

For the rest of us- we’re several weeks into the holiday season which is stressful enough, but the weeks ahead are even more daunting to some. Don’t forget about your self-care and self-love. Rest, drink your water, get fresh air. Celebrate the small wins. Set your boundaries and hold them. You don’t have to do six Christmases in 36 hours [Yes, I’ve done that]. You don’t have to hold onto traditions that leave you exhausted and broke. You don’t have to sit at a dinner table you don’t want to be at for the sake of keeping the peace.- start your own damn traditions and eat at your own table!!

As we barrel into this new year, if you’re feeling burnt out, I urge you to decide what habits are helpful and which ones are holding you back from happiness. Then seek change or help if you don’t know where to start. (I started here and searched by zip) Let go of all those extra things and make space for yourself.

I thought I had to hustle and chase, climb, ACHIEVE to feel satisfied with this life, but as I’ve paced myself this year and slowed down to smell the roses, I’ve discovered that maybe that’s not what I wanted all along. Maybe I want a slower, simpler life of less commitments with naps and dirty dishes in the sink. Maybe that is more than enough for me.