“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” ~Audre Lorde
Because we’re taught, aren’t we, to push ahead no matter what—no matter how exhausted, get to work on time, eat through lunch hurriedly while continuing to work at your desk, don’t complain. No matter how exhausted, pull your weight, don’t let anyone know you need a break. We’re taught that self-care is weak or hooey or something crazy health addicts do.
I have been praised my whole life for being hardworking. In my family, my brother is the “smart one” while I am the one who “works hard.” I had a 4.0 GPA in college—and made myself physically sick trying to maintain it: bronchitis, cold after cold, a litany of stomach complains. I worked through anything my body could throw at me, took it as a challenge. Because I have been a person with multiple disabilities, I felt I had no other choice—work harder than the next person who was naturally smarter or healthier or had never needed accommodations.
Two months ago, I wrote in my journal: “My body is failing me. I am failing my body.” I wasn’t sure if that was the truth, but it was definitely how I felt: failure. Constant pain. Exhaustion.
And then I started to shift my thinking. Because I could no longer fight my body—I wasn’t making any progress anyway—I decided to give the battle a rest. To step away from it. To think in terms of self-care, nourishment, accepting my body for what it has to give. For its faults. For its pain.
What does that mean? I began the Mayo Clinic’s course in attention and interpretation therapy—in mindfulness, basically. Every day brings a different theme, ideas like compassion, acceptance, gratitude, and forgiveness. Every day, I try to meditate—which is not easy for me. The first week, I set a timer for 5 minutes and spent half of my time telling myself not to peek at how much time was left. But this week? I’m able to sit quietly for 20 minutes, more or less.
And I dramatically overhauled what I had thought was my healthy vegetarian diet: no coffee, very little diary, very little alcohol, very few grains. Instead: more raw vegetables and fruits than I ever thought I could eat.
I know this sounds incredibly hooey, incredibly indulgent. Who has time to sit still for 20 minutes every day? Who has time to clean and prepare mounds of vegetables? What’s so wrong with coffee? I felt the same way—a course in mindfulness? Please. I have better things to do with my day. And my biggest fear? That I’d become so relaxed and calm, I’d just lie around all day, never accomplishing anything. I equated stress with production, success, accomplishment—that’s worked, in a sense, since college.
And yet, one month into these changes, I feel better than I have in as long as I can remember. I haven’t had pain, my skin glows, I have more energy. And I feel more focused when doing work: I’m able to focus my mind when it’s racing, when I’m creating mental drama that doesn’t need to exist, when I’m obsessing over conversations and past situations that I’d be better served just letting go. And I can stop it, can slow down. I can step away from my anxiety.
This is a deeply political act, refusing to participate in overwork, in self-punishment, in a culture that values stress and extremes of behavior no matter the personal cost, refusing to be at war with the body no matter what it brings on any given day. In learning how to care for myself, in learning self-preservation, in learning that I can work hard and with kindness, I finally feel a shift in my health. I finally feel like my body’s not failing me.
Poet and essayist Andrea Scarpino is a frequent contributor to POTB. Check out her poetry reading at Bluestocking Books in NYC:
Planet of the Blind 
Seriously, I think the revelation that you have shared in this posting is worth all the pills and pinching that the Mayo Clinic will ever offer.
I also have had serious stress issues as of late. After over 30 years of being a particularly faithful and diligent worker, I walked out midday from my job last March 7 and have not returned. Since that time, I have acquired a small retinue of advisors, medical, psychological and financial who could never possibly hope to untie my knotted existence in conveniently scheduled one-hour appointments.
My mother says, “You should find another job. Working with blind people is depressing.” Yes, my mother, the righteous, cosmopolitan doctor of philosophy.
SK says in his birthday greeting, “We are capable and strong–all of us but all the more so when you have a disability and the right people in your community.” Ah, this is why I check in to POB every now and again.
And so I plan to do some community tinkering, and see what I can put together. Many of those “depressing” blind people, thank goodness, have stayed with me through the thickest and thinnest for about a jillion years — fine bunch of the best friends I could ever hope to have. What would I have done without them?
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Andrea,
The airline safety instructions admonish us to don our own oxygen masks before attempting to help others. I think that this is darned good advice.
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What a wonderful decision you have made,Andrea, to think in terms of nourishing and caring for your body! You are an inspiration to both me and my husband and we thank you.
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