Self care isn’t just a phrase used to market organic free-trade Himalayan pink sugar salt scrubs.
Two years ago, around the same time this year, I was laid off from my job. I had worked at the same company (albeit in several different roles) for 15 years when it happened. I started when I was 19 and at the time I told myself it was only temporary. Years down the line I was making decent money and had a good house and a nice car. I lived very comfortably even if I wasn’t doing what I thought I wanted to do. I liked the team I was with at the time; we gelled so well and enjoyed working with each other. I wasn’t even thinking of next steps for a career, really.
Corporate meetings are awful. They’re worse when it’s personnel related.
My celebrating usually stemmed from other things; people being a little nicer to each other, decorations and bright lights that made it fun to walk down the street at night. I’d be remiss if I didn’t throw out that old demon, consumerism, but not because of gift getting (although I am a material girl in a material world).
I was lurking around the Twitterverse a little while back and wasting time, as is my want when work is slow and dull, when I saw a post of epically dumb proportions.
I’ve spent most of my life swallowing anger until it fermented into a unique blend of sad, bitter, and isolated – suggested pairings are spoonfuls of Nutella straight from the jar and wearing pajamas for over 24 hours.
It should come as no surprise to anyone who has read anything I’ve written that I have a regular appointment with a therapist. Well, in one of these recent regularly scheduled appointments I had a bit of a revelation. I am not good at love. I don’t love people the way you should and I don’t let them love me back (don’t make that dirty). I don’t suppose I ever really learned how or tried to learn. Honest, open love requires vulnerability and that is terrifying. So much can go wrong when you open yourself completely to someone. There are so many ways to hurt someone or to get hurt by someone in this world.
Movies and music are pretty powerful in that they can evoke memories. Sometimes it’s a lot like a magic spell. They take you traveling to the past, your past. And sometimes it’s a good past with warm memories and loving thoughts. Sometimes it’s a dark past with unpleasant events. But the good thing is you can control it by either turning off the tv or the radio. Sometimes I like to go to those dark places, either because I feel like being sad (I know sometimes you just need to mope though) or just to have a good cry. Crying can be incredibly cathartic.
I see the blue veins just under the skin, that are getting a little more pronounced – a fact I try to ignore is due in part to aging. And then I notice IT – glaring out as though it were an odd eyeball that just opened.
It’s bad when I decide to get out of the house and head to a coffee shop (any coffee shop), but when I get there I don’t talk to anyone and spend every last second feeling like every set of eyes is on me.