Before I left for vacation I had a session with my therapist.
“Do you know what I just wrote down?” she asked.
I already knew, so there was no real reason to wait for my reply:
“No self care,” she said.
She was right. Yoga, writing, clean eating, good sleeping, walking, meditation, reiki – all swiftly gone by the wayside. A dry cough has even returned, along with some post-nasal drip.
Sometimes, I stop doing the things that are good for me. I can’t pinpoint exactly why – all I know is that self-care is a process and for me, not a linear one.
Getting on my path is no longer my challenge. Staying on it, is.
And usually, this is when I begin handing out judgments. Sentencing myself. My drive = pitiful. My passion = laughable. My talents = non-existent. My body = ugly.
But here’s a sign of progress:
The sentence is so much lighter.
Truth is, I do not feel my best. Truth is, I have not been taking the best care of me. AND the truth is, I know how to forgive and start again.
And so, I have.
Deep breathes. Simple words. One foot in front of the other.
There is joy in letting go of what keeps you dark and down, and living in the truth that you can (over and over, and again and again, and even after long periods of time) light up the sky.