I’m 61 and only just learning how to take care of myself.
“But you’re a Rodale!” someone said to me recently, assuming I was healthy and well self cared because we published books and magazines about it and I ran the company that promulgated this “wisdom.”
It’s complicated.
I was the fourth of five children, born to parents who were both super busy or traveling (my Dad) and often ill (my Mother) at a time when the world was rapidly changing (the 60’s). My primary feeling of being cared for was dinner time, when we all were fed at the same time with the same food (no choice in the matter). I do have fond memories of my oldest sister Heather doing my hair while I sat on the toilet in the bathroom (closed lid) like I was her living doll to play with. And oddly vivid memories of my other older sister Heidi coming home from living in Haight-Ashbury and doing yoga poses in our back yard. That was interesting. (I also “borrowed” her copy of Be Here Now.) But other than that I was mostly on my own, in the wild, often painfully sunburt. Some people look fondly back on those days but I don’t. The first time I got drunk was when I was 6 and my cousins made me a sweet drink and dared me to drink it. I shoplifted (because no one thought to give me money or take me shopping that I can remember). I started smoking when I was 11 or so. By 14 I was a regular drinker and often “ripped” which was the euphemism we used for being stoned out of our minds. I threw up a lot from drinking too much. And don’t get me started on the sexual abuses and harassment by both boys my own age and older men. I used to joke that I came of age in the 70’s during the sexual revolution where it was not OK for a girl to say no. It’s not funny anymore. But humor was how I survived.
The next 40 years were in many ways a blur — thrust into single motherhood at 20, thrust into the family business at 24, one marriage, two more kids and one divorce later, 50 or so pounds heavier with much of it centered in my middle from excessive cortisol (stress) and a few pounds settling in my hereditary double chin, here I am (let’s just say I now know why my father and grandfather wore beards). I had no time for self care unless it was an emergency visit to a spa for three days. The family business, motherhood, home ownership and trying to be a wife, and heavy bleeding from 7 fibroids, took everything out of me. I ate organically most of the time, but I also ate a lot of crap. I was trying to feed a hunger that I only later realized had nothing to do with food. No wonder I had high blood pressure.
The business is gone, thankfully. My kids are almost all out of the house (Lucia can drive herself to school now). So for the first time since I was 19 I am able to call a day my own on a regular basis and figure out how to take the best care of myself, which was forced to my attention by having a stroke. I used to say that most people come to organic food after having a health issue (or having a baby). I have come to learning how to care for myself after having a health issue (both a stroke and a bizarre tooth infection). And I’m still learning.
“What even is self care?” asked my friend Nathalie Dupree during a writers workshop a few years ago. “I’ve never heard of it before,” she confessed. She was an older Southern woman who had spent her life cooking, writing about cooking and hosting a cooking show on PBS. Self care is not just having our hair and nails done and making ourselves look good to others, whether they be real people or audiences.
I’ll never forget the time that a female executive confessed to me that the night before she was so tired she forgot to moisturize her feet before going to bed. That was a real thing? No one ever told me to moisturize my feet before and it had never even occurred to me. I never got that memo.
Self care is complicated. A lot of people look amazing, but are deeply hurting and depleted inside. I think, or I’ve learned, that true self care has to incorporate mind, body and spirit. What works for one person doesn’t necessarily work for another. And it’s not just a female issue. Men need self-care too. During the last election day when I watched 300 of my neighbors shuffle in to vote I saw so much pain and suffering in their bodies and souls — of both men and women. And the young people, just like I was when I was their age, were often harried, tired and draped with kids.
The truth is, self-care is still a luxury.
The truth is, self-care is not really taught.
The truth is, self-care is essential to health and well-being.
The truth is, self-care isn’t about getting a “beach ready body” or looking perfectly coifed and dressed. I am too old to worry about getting a perfect bikini body. But I will still wear a bikini because it’s more comfortable to me, and I like the feeling of the hot sun on my fat belly.
The truth is, self-care is up to each of us.
In my next post I will list all the ways I’ve learned how to take care of myself. And I will ask you what I’ve missed or what you have also learned. But this is enough for today. Part of what I’ve learned about self-care is learning to set boundaries and taking breaks when I need them.
I’m off to take a nice hot bath.
Stay tuned for part 2.
It all sounds familiar... I’m 67 and did not practice self-care until the 90’s when “Epsom salt baths” a few times a week saved my sanity. I then drifted in and out of it, even running a business dedicated to that until it was “shut down” by Covid. But even during that time it was difficult to practice self-care.
I get it...I'm only 3 years younger, but feel what you're saying.