My Real Simple magazine cover screams out from my mailbox today. Take time for you, it says, on a photo of dewy roses or peonies or some other equally beautiful flower.
As women, all we hear about is self care. But, what really does that mean? What is MY self care? A pedicure? Ok, and then I will have chipped nails in three weeks and then have to find the nail polish remover I’ve hidden so my kid doesn’t get into it, take off the color, and then have ugly ass nails the rest of the summer.
Massage? It takes me forever to relax. Sixty minutes is up! So is $70, plus tip.
A friend suggested a girls night in. Sounds fun. But, who is hosting? That woman has to clean, make food (or we all make food), make sure there are face masks and wine glasses for everyone, and then….clean up. Self care is saying “don’t just put your plate in my sink. Rinse it and put it in the dishwasher.” But at the end of the night, we’re all “just leave it there, I’ve got it!”
And, is self care actually selfish? You can’t serve from an empty vessel, blah blah blah. There is a floor that needs to be cleaned. How can I justify a nap?
I’m having a hard time today seeing the bright side. It’s one of those days, I guess. It’s a day where I would encourage someone that I love to practice self care. I have no idea what that means. Is it just something to say?
I’d love to read, and nap, and relax….but that time ends. It always ends, and you’re right back in it. It’s like taking a day off work. It’s great at the time but you come back to a disaster of a desk and realize sometimes it’s just not worth taking that day off.
Maybe one day I will figure out what “take time for you” means, and learn that that time has finite limits and life is still happening. In the meantime, you can find me putting that Real Simple magazine on top of the growing pile of reading material I have. Maybe I’ll get to it someday…..