What exactly is “self-care” and where does it come from?
In the spirit of starting fresh with a developing a solid self-care practice, I committed myself to completing a 31 day challenge to hopefully find something that’ll stick. Me being the functional-dysfunctional adult-ish person I am, I didn’t live up to the full commitment. Here we are half way through December and I’ve made the conscious decision to jump back in it on Day 15 — Make a promise to myself, keep it, and develop a day-to-day routine around it. So I decided to jump back to Day 13 and keep the momentum going from there — Look at yourself as a baby and answer these questions: How would you talk differently to yourself? What would you tell her?
At my big age, I struggle to keep myself going about 90% of the time. I regularly forget to eat, fall victim to dehydration way too often, my laundry pile gets ridiculous, my room is a mess, and I hate detangling my hair with every fiber of my being, but I can at least brag about never being ashy outside the confines of my home. Every few months, I make an attempt to pick up a self-care routine that involves developing a sustainable skincare regimen, return to making my own body butters and hair conditioners, and making my bed at least twice a week. I have flopped on each and every attempt. It’s not that self-care and orderliness wasn’t apart of my routine growing up, but somewhere along the line, I can honestly say I stopped giving as much of a fuck about myself as I should. And of course, I could sit here and blame it on years of toxic and traumatic relationships that turned 18–21 year old me into someone that I grew to hate, but I just can’t sit with continuing to hate a single piece of myself. Whether I develop an actual “self-care routine” or not, I’m committing myself to love my full self. That is what I would tell Baby Jillian.
The way trauma flips the script on you will have you convinced that you never knew yourself at all. There were way too many times that I’ve asked myself who am I and really couldn’t drum up an answer. The trauma tricked me into believing that who I am now is a new me when the reality is 18–21 was an impromptu hiatus of my sensibility. From ages 15–21, I wrapped myself up in romantic relationships because the idea of “being alone” sounded worse than being with someone who didn’t want to experience my full self, so I shrank myself down into bite size pieces until I was completely consumed. Chewed and mangled into something unappetizing. Before now, 15 year old Jillian had the most stable relationship of them all. At 18, I was “grown” and making my own decisions that led me to the darkest period of my life. And even though I often sit here wishing that I could erase ages 18–21, a major part of my journey to become someone that Baby Jillian could look up to involves accepting that period of my life as something that happened and move from it because every single step and misstep I’ve taken has led me to where I am now. My life may not be anywhere close to where I thought it would be at this point in my life, but I can honestly say I’m content with where I am. It’s still a work in progress, but I’m trying my damndest to stop comparing myself to others because we all have our own paths to follow.
When things don’t work out for me, I understand that that’s just not the path for me to follow. Where I thought my cynicism was rooted in “realism,” I’ve finally learned to let go and move forward. Where I would have full-blown anxiety attacks that left my chest feeling like a clenched fist, I can now talk myself down from the ledge. My clinically diagnosed anxiety disorder is a non-factor nowadays and I breathe easier. My “self-care routine” leaves much to be desired, but it’s a beautiful feeling to wake up in the morning generally content because I have choices—oddly, something I never really considered something I could really have. I stewed in my trauma and those bite-sized pieces I had reduced myself to never felt like they would be whole ever again. If I could go back and tell Baby Jillian to let go and move forward, I would be able to look at pictures of me from this dark period to see how much further I’ve come along.
So when I think back on this particular dark period of my life, where I am now feels like an accomplishment. I have choices and for the first time in my life, I’ve actually sat down and thought about the type of parent I would be. I want to build from the blueprint my parents created. I want to raise my children from a place of love and caution, not fear. I want my children to be braver and bolder than I could ever even imagine. While my parents raised me to be the boisterous, quirky creative I am today, I hit a bump in the road trying to find my own way when I didn’t. I wish I could go back to tell Baby Jillian to always trust the ones who have my best interest at heart. I want my younger self to see the path that was written out for me by my ancestors and stick to it, but the next best thing I could do is instill that love, faith, and trust in my children. I want them to find the safety in me that I find in my own parents. I was raised with love and it’s my path to keep the cycle going.
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Quick side note: All throughout my life, I have found myself in the most ridiculous predicaments. I’ve always known that my “guardian angels” have been working overtime to keep me in line. As Sagittarius season comes to an end, I want to share them— ma Grand-mère Ruth Clark and my Grandpa Theodore Burford. Saturday, December 4th would’ve been her 102nd birthday and today would’ve been his 97th. In 1994, they both passed within weeks of the holiday season and have continued to have a hold over the family since, but that’s a story for another time. (Fingers crossed, it won’t take me another three months and some change to write ever again. I promise to do better in 2022.)
