Category: Love, Your Brain

Why I Sometimes Call Self-Care “Corporeal Maintenance”

Genevieve2 Comments

Sometimes I wish someone would just roll me into the literal body shop and get me a self-care tune-up. Alas, it doesn’t work that way.

I’ve stopped using the term “self-care” to describe a lot of the things I do for myself. Hear me out, though. It’s not because there’s anything wrong with calling it self-care; it’s just that a lot of self-care tasks are not as flowery and gentle as the term implies. Sometimes you have to buckle up and make that phone call you’ve been avoiding so that your dentist doesn’t think you dropped off the face of the planet. (And so that you can get your teeth cleaned, I guess.)

I’ve found that reframing some self-care tasks as “corporeal maintenance” helps me tackle them with less procrastination. Something about approaching these tasks as simply maintenance and upkeep feels less daunting.
Here are some examples:

“Oh, my ‘check hydration tank’ light is on. Better go drink some water.”
Or
“Didn’t I just go grocery shopping, like…oh, yeah, I guess it’s been a while. I should probably get some fuel for this week.”

If I call it “self-care,” I’m likely to not do it – either because I don’t care, or because I don’t feel worthy of being cared for. But, if you want to keep driving to the things you do care about, you have to get the oil changed every once in a while.

There’s a lot of talk about self-care these days; some criticize it and some embrace it whole-heartedly. There tends to be an atmosphere of self-indulgence when we discuss it; as if every act of caring for ourselves is rooted in all-encompassing positivity. And yes, self-care can be self-indulgent and rooted in self-love. Those things are necessary. But self-care is also doing the things that aren’t very fun but are kind of non-negotiable when it comes to being healthy.

It may very well be the case that you do complete these tasks out of self-love, and I think that’s great. In fact, that seems like a wonderful goal to work towards. But if you’re not there yet, and calling those unpleasant/boring tasks “self-care” feels insincere, go ahead and call them something else. Whatever floats your goat.

Love, 

Your Brain

Letter to Myself About Depression

GenevieveLeave a comment

Dear Future Brain,
It’s been some time since you’ve been where I am, and I wanted to remind you of some lessons I’ve recently learned about depression and self-care.

1. You matter.

I hope that by the time you’re reading this, you sincerely believe this one. I know that we often get lost in existential quicksand. Try to remember that the things you think are indicators of an inconsequential existence can be viewed just as easily as miraculous and precious. Yes, the lifespan of a human being is practically instantaneous in comparison to the existence of the universe. And yes, multi-cellular life may have arisen by accident. But consider this: the fact that you are here, a teeming community of human and bacterial cells piloted by a blob of electrified tissue, is pretty incredible.

2. Listen to your body.

It’s not always easy. In fact, I’m learning that it usually feels like I’m guessing. If this is something you’ve lost touch with, refresh your memory of #1. Natural selection may have screwed you over when it comes to the arrangement of your food pipe and your air pipe (thank you, epiglottis), but it did ok when it came to your nervous system. Yours in particular may be a little out of whack, but it still keeps you alive. Try not to discount your body; it probably knows what it’s doing.

3. You require deliberate (and likely extra) self-care.

Because listening to your body doesn’t come easily, it’s important for you to make an effort to hear it. If that means being a hermit for a few hours every afternoon, so be it. Hopefully you’ve got this one mastered and it feels more natural, but if you still have to work at it, that’s ok. It’s worth it.

4. Depression does not make you a burden.

‘Nuff said.

5. Needing medication is not shameful.

I know, you were mortified when you had to get a bigger pill organizer because you couldn’t fit all your pills for depression in your old one (to be fair, those vitamins are freaking huge). And every time you fill a new prescription, you worry that the pharmacist thinks you’re a nut, but I assure you, she doesn’t.

6. Movement is wonderful.

It’s easy for us to be sedentary for way too long, and since we’re a creature of habit, breaking out of that pattern is tough. Take my word for it though; moving makes you feel better.
P.S. exercise doesn’t have to be difficult.

7. Seek meaningful connection.

Being isolated is tempting, and it’s necessary at times, but it doesn’t serve you in large doses. Whether it’s maintaining your existing relationships or reaching out to someone new, social connection is a vital component of your happiness.

8. Keep growing.

Growth takes lots of forms, and it’s not always about taking a big risk. Stick your toe outside of your comfort zone every once in a while, and believe me when I say that you’re more than capable. If you don’t stretch yourself, your comfort zone will just keep shrinking.

9. Practice gratitude.

This is not to say that your pain is invalid because of the positive parts of your life. Instead, acknowledging the things that you’re thankful for can make the tough stuff a little easier.

10. Have hope.

Depending on where you’re at, this may seem like a meaningless platitude. If that’s the case, I don’t think I can convince you to believe it. Someone once told me that they’d hold the hope for me, so for now, I’ll hold the hope for you. You from the past is rooting for you. You’ve got this.

Love,
Your Brain

balance

Depression’s Secrets

Genevieve2 Comments

CW: mentions of self-injury and suicide

 

Carrying depression around only gets heavier. Like you were forced to sign a contract whose small print stipulates that not only will this weight of sadness and hopelessness sit on you for long periods of time, but it will also collect small, dense secrets. Pretty soon, you’re like a one-man band of mental illness and dark thoughts you’ve never uttered out loud. My band only plays a cacophonous combination of doubt, worry, and despair, and only inside my own head. I like to think that I’ve made a lot of progress in being able to talk about my feelings, but maybe that’s just on a superficial level. The really dark stuff is still jangling away in my one-man band.

Thoughts
The thing about constant noise is, you start to tune it out. You carry on with your life, compensating for the mental energy being drained away. And then suddenly, one of those dark thoughts crashes into your head. For instance, today I remembered that I have bottles of pills hoarded under my bathroom sink. They’re all failed antidepressants; they either didn’t work for me or I was allergic to them. I kept them all “just in case” and although I’m doing better, I’m still afraid to get rid of them. I’ve also kept the razor blade I used to use, tucked away in a sewing kit. That kit has been through hell; the thimble is rusted and my dog chewed through the case, but I never threw it away. Months after the last time I hurt myself, I sometimes pull it out and just hold it.

I guess I’ve kept these things because, deep down, I don’t believe I’ll ever be free from depression. Perhaps that’s the worst component of my one-man band. Or maybe, it’s the string that holds the entire monstrous instrument together.

Love,

Your brain