Take Care
Photo by Craig Adderley
“Take care of yourself.” These are words we are hearing quite often these days. After a year like 2020, my definition of caring for myself has shifted.
Coming from an immigrant family, the concept of caring for self seemed foreign growing up, dare I even say selfish. My mother, as the oldest of five siblings, has lived her entire life caring for others — her mother, her younger siblings, her coworkers, her children. This is a heavy burden. When you’re constantly worried about survival and having enough, there’s no space to look inward at your own needs.
In her last job, my mother was extremely overworked and underappreciated. It went on for years, making her stressed and unable to sleep at night. Finally, she decided enough was enough and she quit. It turns out they’ve gone through four people searching for her replacement and no one has stayed more than a month. This made my mom feel good about herself. “Aren’t you proud of me?” she asked. I struggled to answer her. On the one hand, of course, I am proud of her. She raised me and my brother on her own, put us both through college, and gave us every opportunity we could hope for. But am I proud of her for sticking through an unhealthy work environment? I’m not sure. Finally, at a time in her life when she doesn’t have to care for anyone but herself, why was she still enduring?
“After receiving this care, I felt more in tune with my body and realized that a lot of the things I thought were “normal” weren’t really normal at all. They are just common because we are not taught to slow down and listen to the signals our body sends us.”
Without realizing it I inherited this narrative, that my own needs don’t matter. I would push myself to “care” for others without being attentive to what was going on inside of me. Since becoming a doula, it’s become clearer to me that I can’t care for others if I don’t care for myself first. This is true for me as a mother and wife as well. And though I fully embrace this concept now, parts of me still feel like it’s wrong to care for myself. When I was starting this work, I was challenged by my mentor to give myself the type of postpartum care I give to my clients. When working with a person postpartum, we work very intentionally to restore a person's mind, body, and spirit after the immense changes they’ve gone through over the last 9 months and throughout labor. Each culture has its own traditions, typically involving nourishing foods, some type of bodywork, or incorporating herbal medicine through teas, tinctures, or baths.
My mission in treating myself as a postpartum client began first through food. As I became more intentional about the foods I ate, I noticed that I began to have more energy. I felt a sense of wholeness when I prepared a warm soup with root vegetables native to my mother’s land. I could feel that my body was working as it should. I didn’t feel as sluggish or stuck. While before I didn’t necessarily think of food as self care, it’s become part of my routine that grounds me.
A few months later I was fortunate to be able to receive bodywork from a traditional sobadora. A sobada is a type of bodywork that helps align the organs in your abdominal cavity and release tension in your tendons and ligaments. After pregnancy, all the organs inside you shift around a bit and can become misaligned, which can prevent them from performing optimally. Cue all the symptoms we’re told are “normal” during postpartum: backaches, pelvic pain, pain during sex, etc. After receiving this care, I felt more in tune with my body and realized that a lot of the things I thought were “normal” weren’t really normal at all. They are just common because we are not taught to slow down and listen to the signals our body sends us. Instead of fighting through the pain, I’ve learned to (or at least I try to) slow down and listen to what my body is communicating to me and make the necessary adjustments.
“After sitting with myself for a while, I was able to admit that I didn’t believe that I was worthy of care and rest. I sat with those feelings, resisting the urge to get out of the bath and move on, and allowed my body to receive the love and care that it deserves.”
The last thing I did for myself was give myself an herbal bath. This felt like the most “luxurious” item and more in line with the image of “self care” in the media. When it was time to get in, I actually felt afraid. I wasn’t used to caring for myself in this way. At first, I thought I felt this way because of guilt. Guilt because I had a million other things to do and people to take care of, surely this couldn’t be the best use of my time. I found it hard to slow down and wanted to speed up the process. My resistance to slowing down made me realize the true reason this made me uncomfortable. Getting in forced me to be still. It forced me to be alone with my thoughts in a way where I couldn’t really run from them or hide from them by “doing”. Sitting in the stillness and darkness allowed me to see that those feelings of “guilt” were just another way I was escaping what was really underneath the surface.
After sitting with myself for a while, I was able to admit that I didn’t believe that I was worthy of care and rest. I sat with those feelings, resisting the urge to get out of the bath and move on, and allowed my body to receive the love and care that it deserves. I needed that moment of stillness to allow myself to just be and listen. This was a privilege that my mother, grandmother, great grandmother didn’t have the luxury of doing. They had to keep going. Because of their sacrifices, I am in a place now to look inward, to sit with and question the narratives I’ve inherited. I left feeling rejuvenated, with a clarity that allowed me to move forward in confidence, even amidst uncertainty.
Sometimes I will still get pushback from people if I choose myself first. It can come off as being selfish. But I’m committed to caring for myself because it not only benefits me, it allows me to take care of others without feeling burnt out or resentful. Ironically, self care also involves other people, it’s not something that can be accomplished alone. Whether it’s a service that’s provided or gentle conversations or reminders from a friend, we’re meant to have others speak into our lives this way. Taking care is a communal act, and just one of the ways our collective wellbeing and humanity are intricately connected.
