We have all heard the instructions of an airline attendant reminding us to put on our own oxygen mask before we help anyone else with theirs. This advice is often cited as a metaphor for self-care because it so accurately expresses why it is important. Few situations in our daily lives mimic the wake-up call of an airplane emergency, so it's easy to keep putting self-care off, until we get sick, overwhelmed, or exhausted, and suddenly don't have the energy to care for the people who count on us. That's when we begin to understand that taking care of ourselves is neither selfish nor indulgent.
It may be necessary to say no to someone else in order to say yes to yourself. It helps to remember that self-care doesn't have to be composed of massively time-consuming acts. In fact, the best prescription for taking care of yourself is probably small, daily rituals; for example, taking one half-hour for yourself at the beginning and end of the day to meditate, journal, or just be.
Whatever you decide, making some small gesture where you are putting yourself first every day will pay off in spades, for you and others. The oxygen you need is all around you; sometimes you just need to be reminded to breathe.
My Thoughts:
I can hold my hands up to this one … guilty as charged.
This is so true when there is a crisis, especially the death of a loved-one. There is just so many practical things to be done, and to be done within times scales, and done in the right order to comply with the laws of the land. In the midst of the grief other people have to be notified. Friends, family, work-places, clubs, doctors, dentists, insurance companies, banks, the council … the list seems endless. Then there are all the funeral arrangements, the coffin, the flowers, the burial clothes, the order of service, the cars … to name a few, and then the logistical preparations for the actual event and the wake afterwards need to be sorted.
Everyone and his wide seems to want to call and pay respects and the phone calls are constant, each person inadvertently leaning on you for support as they try to come to terms with the loss. Stories, reminiscences, tales of a life that you were probably not privy to abound, and you listen because they need to talk.
With everything that is demanded of you, there is no time for you to grieve. That is until the small hours of the night. The time when all official organisations are closed, the time when people feel it inappropriate to call, the time when the mayhem has seemed to finally stop.
Then … in the darkness of the night you realise there is no one around for you to talk to.