Self For Self

That's Marilou, my manicurist and reminder that to this day, I'm still ticklish. We always laugh about it.

self-care n. 

The care of oneself without medical, professional, or other assistance or oversight. Dictonary.com

It took me a long time to truly understand the definition of self-care. To be honest, I'm still learning (I don't think that will ever end). You don't arrive to self-care, you are dragged. For me, the panic/anxiety attacks (sharp chest pains, unsettled stomach, insomnia, etc.), wasn't a big enough clue. I needed to be hospitalized, to be sure. *long extensive eye roll*

Last year, I found myself in the emergency room, believing my body was against me. About a month later, I had outpatient surgery (endoscopy and colonoscopy). I'd seen a few doctors, and no one could figure out what was wrong with me. I wasn't able to eat anything but greek yogurt and toast, for about 4 months. When I wasn't trying to get them down, I was bedridden and in excruciating pain. Like, seriously, what in the ever-lovin-fuck was happening to me? I was sure my body was hosting something. I was prepared for labor. That's the only way I know how to describe it (and that's not saying anything, really, as I've only ever birthed hot tracks...ignore me).

So, one tube up my ass and the other down my throat. When it was over and I came to, I was groggy but also a bit nervous and anxious to hear what my doctor had found:

"...a bit of redness. But overall, you have the most impressive colon I've ever seen. Have you been stressed lately? Anxious? I would suggest you be more pro-active in handling any anxiety you may have. You do have a mild case of gastritis...that's all."

That's all. That. Is. All. THAT'S ALL?? Wait. Because American health care (thankfully, my insurance covered most of it...thanks Obama. I suppose.) I felt silly and very confused. That's when I realized just how powerful our minds are. I was so depressed and anxious, that it made me physically ill, to the point of a tube in the ass. I guess I wasn't doing a very good job at managing anything.

I discovered that this feeling just didn't come upon me, it's always been there. I was a high functioning anxious person, with depression. Eeyor and Piglet, all in one. Funny, they were always my favorite, too. Kindred spirts. Best friends forever. My 16th birthday party was a Winnie The Pooh themed extravaganza (not really an extravaganza, just a bunch of teenagers in the dark, slow dancing in my living room, trying to feel what ecstasy felt like *eye roll*). I was even called Pooh by some of my friends. I've lost the plot. Need to find my way back.

Anyway, my point. I've since, learned to manage it all. I got myself a personal trainer. I don't "pre-do" my hair, before I go to the salon (I used to find it hard to part with the extra $45 for a weave removal and wash). I let Marilou tickle my feet and manicure my hands, every two weeks. I've done this for one whole year. Honestly, I don't know why I wasn't doing this before. I'm so happy in this self. Having a therapist has worn me out, but built me back up. Happy with this self. Growing in this self. 

You should try it. 

Anyone who has a problem with it, can fuck right off.

Go forth. Onward and upward.