It’s not just me, is it? Lots of people are having a hard time, right?
I have a feeling that I’m in good company. I don’t want to write this in a fluffy or disingenuous way. I certainly don’t want to give advice.
I hate being given advice about self-care. Give me advice on the best fitting leggings or where to buy a new bra; the flickiest liquid eyeliner, or the best pakora in Scotland. Don’t tell me how to reduce my stress. Please, don’t.
I’ve got sufficient self-awareness to know that, when life takes a toll on me – like now – I do certain things. I’m also aware that these things are disconcerting for the people who know me well.
I stop listening to music – that freaks people out. I’ve normally got Bose headphones glued to my ears. My speaker is still in my suitcase from my last – stressful – trip to England. It’s normally in the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom. Wherever I go, the music goes, too. Except when my equilibrium is off.
The other thing that people don’t like is my terrible eating habits. “You’ve lost weight.” Yes, that’s because I had Tayto crisps for dinner three times last week. I’m not advocating this as a diet plan, and, no, the kids don’t have Taytos for tea.
But, please, don’t quiz me on what I’ve eaten. It’s not about lack of awareness. So far today, I’ve had black coffee with extra sugar and a collagen shot. I’ll crunch on an apple soon, I promise.
Not advice, just ideas for how to feel better
Here are some things I’ve learned about my own self-care, after years of working in mental health, then training as a counsellor and a mindfulness teacher. (I know – Jaq of all trades.)
How do we learn and grow if we stay stuck, if we avoid discomfort?
What I’m about to write isn’t a prescription, nor is it intended as advice for anyone else (we hate advice). It’s just a few ideas; things I’ve absorbed over the last six years – which have been mostly intense and baffling and life-affirming and scary.
Happiness is a myth. It is transient. Joy is rare and intermittent. Often, what we pursue is the opposite of happiness – we pursue the avoidance of pain. That doesn’t necessarily make you happy in the long run.
We stay in situations (relationships or jobs) that no longer serve us. The fear of loss and the fear of emptiness keep us stuck. But, how do we learn and grow if we stay stuck, if we avoid discomfort?
It might be about shame: avoiding a conversation because it makes us feel vulnerable. I did this last week and had to give myself a stern talking to – drop the shame! Admit when you’re exhausted, sad, vulnerable, scared, sick, skint, struggling, in need of a cuddle.
There’s always too much to do, and I will never get it all done. I’m behind on so much. Mainly due to health stuff, and life not going according to plan recently. Any attempt to fully get on top of it is counterproductive.
I’ve realised that I’m sometimes hyperfocused, but frequently distracted. I work best with deadlines. Scary deadlines are the most effective. I measure too much of my life in the huge challenges and not enough in the small things that matter, things that make a difference to other people.
Try not to worry – and write
The last two or three years have been uncertain for us all. But, the future is always uncertain. It offers me no reassurance whatsoever. I can worry about it – that’s anxiety on a silver platter. I can fear making plans, because they always go awry. I can ruminate over the past and its misadventures. Won’t do me any good.
It’s good to make plans, while recognising that they are fluid and momentary
Of course, I want to know that things will be fine; that the bumps will be smoother, at some point. It’s good to make plans, while recognising that they are fluid and momentary. There is no anchor to hold my expectations down.
What about practical things? I’m of the opinion that a too-hot bath is the answer to all my woes, especially if I have a dark bathroom and a good quality candle, and the boiler hasn’t packed in again.
Spending time in nature – yes. It’s amazing, and a lifetime habit of taking my miserable self to be by the sea has served me well. Unfortunately, I can’t walk far at the moment, due to an infuriating knee injury. Instead, I watch the neighbourhood cats doing gymnastics on the back wall. Or, look at the stars.
But, mainly, it’s about writing. When I can’t find the right words to say out loud, they still exist in my head.
When I’m lacking in charm or confidence, when I feel self-conscious, particularly flawed, it always comes back to words. They allow me to exist in a suspended world, where joy and loss co-exist.
My advice to myself? Keep writing.
Donna McLean is originally from Ayrshire and is a mum of twins, writer and activist
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