When I was in my early 20’s I saw a therapist that introduced me to self-care. This was over 30 years ago, and at the time the thought of scattering a few rose petals in a bath, or buying myself some matching underwear didn’t really feel like it was going to solve the world’s problems. Counselling was also something quite foreign to me. As a child of the 70’s we grew up and just got on with it. Mental health and PTSD was reserved for war veterans not little kids that had lost parents.
I was born a people pleaser, the giver, the nurturer, the reliable one. The friend that would always pick up the phone and come to your rescue. It felt nice to be needed. Even complete strangers download their life’s problems on me. I was like a shit magnet, which is mad considering I’ve never really been a good listener.
I always felt an internal battle between what I wanted and also what being born into the life of an Empath looked like. Being the good girl meant compromising myself, my integrity and feeling guilty when I didn’t.
Self-care was a word that carried a lot of guilt, and my perception was self-care meant selfish. At the time I had no idea how important self-care was.
Growing up with a single mum meant pulling our weight. My mum was thrown into a world of being independent. She would leave before 7am to stack bread at supermarkets while I would get my self and my brother off to school. If something needed doing around the house, mum wasn’t waiting around for anyone else to do it. I watched, with both admiration and frustration at her seeming invincibility, as well as being saddened that our lives seemed much more compromised to those of my friends. I had to grow up real quick and take on much more responsibility that a little girl should.
By now you may know my story, however if you have just stumbled onto this blog, then let me help with a little recap.
I lost my father to bowel cancer at the age of 6. Sexual promiscuity and daddy issues through out my teens. Married my complete opposite at 25, divorced at 29. Remarried and became a stepmother and mother at 33. My first cancer diagnosis happened at 39 and my second cancer diagnosis at the age of 52. I now have more organs removed than I have left inside my body. My path to self awareness has been one of incredible trauma and joy, all wrapped up in a little red bow from the universe. Pretty sure I said ‘throw it all at me’ to my Spirit Team this lifetime. Either that or I didn’t read the fine print in my life contract!
Art became my self-care practice in 2012. Taking weekly classes was the start of integrating art and creativity into ongoing self-care practices beyond my cancer journey. Now when health issues arise I am able to quickly implement self soothing techniques and step into the flow of ‘my next best step’. Often this means pulling back from socials, pulling in my resources, not making myself as accessible to others and being super kind to myself.
No one is going to take better care of you, than you. So it’s really important to recognise when you need to better regulate your emotions, time, energy and reserves. Boundaries are essential and I have found more often than not, that the right thing to do is usually the most difficult. And by right, I mean not upsetting the people you care about. Not all offers of help need to be received and it is totally acceptable to say no.
Being creative is not something I do, it’s something I have grown into. Just like moving through different art mediums, my experiences have helped evolve my emotional well-being and resilience. Truly understanding your needs through life’s challenges and resourcing yourself is a challenge in itself. Make sure you give yourself the grace you would extend to others.
Love, Light and a Little Bit of Luck! Michelle xx
Photo ref by Darius Bashar Unsplash
