A call to self-care

While you are stuck again with just me and my ramblings tomorrow, today I'm pleased to announce guest blogger Jennifer Derryberry Mann: the mother of two little girls who love to dance through the house, “help” in the kitchen, and color on any available surface. She is the editor of Belly Button Bliss: A Small Collection of Happy Birth Stories (Fairview Press, 2010), a freelance writer, and a certified Forrest yoga instructor who specializes in prenatal yoga and postnatal mama-baby Yoga Bonding.

Her bio is longer and more impressive than the above; feel free to read about her and her work on her delightfully named website: www.Mamahhh.com  Check there also for my own post as a Christian who likes doing yoga. :)  While there may exist yoga classes that are straight-up paganism, my experience (at least at the YMCA) has not been so, and I have found ways to make it work well for me.  I think yoga can be a useful tool to calm down our minds and relax our bodies without offending our faith.  Will write more on that later I'm sure. :)  I welcome your comments and feedback meanwhile: Have you done yoga?  What are your concerns?  What has your experience been?  Always happy to hear from you.

For now, I'm turning the floor over to Jenni.  Be kind to yourself today.   :)

"Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, 

clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience."

Colossians 3:12

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I am thrilled to be visiting T. L. Catholic! Visiting Katie’s blog is a lot like what I’d imagine it’s like to hang out with Katie in person, chatting over wine (or lemonade, if you’re feeling wholesome).

Over in my little neck of the internet, at www.Mamahhh.com, Katie shared a story about how she brought her faith right in to a yoga class when she was postpartum and recovering from a challenging birth. I totally admire that she was willing to check her concerns about yoga being too “new agey.” Not because I’m a yoga teacher and I think the practice is awesome (although I am and I do!) but because I recognize a mama who’s gotten real about what she needs to do to tend to her own heart.

What is it about nurturing ourselves that is so dang hard?! We’re so willing to bend over backward to take care of our kids, our family, someone else’s kids, and just about everyone else’s business – what about making sure we’re tapped in to our most loving self before we start in on that list?

A mama-friend recently told me that she just didn’t feel like she was worth it. And I know she’s not the only one who feels that way.

Sometimes the block to nurturing ourselves is that sense that everything else is SO important, or that something else has to be done Right Now!

When I first started getting clear about “self-care” I mostly thought of it as “spa day.” But nurturing yourself doesn’t have to require a whole day and a whole lot of money. You don’t have to put everything else on hold. The simplest acts of self-care probably won’t even make you late for whatever else needs to happen Right. Now!

During the next 48 hours, turn the volume waaaay up on your inner sense of your need for nurturing. Don’t judge yourself for it. Simply notice when you’re feeling a little disconnected –grumpy or tired or impatient or unfocused or just blah—and in that moment, try one of these super-easy nurturing homeworks:

1.       Take a full breath in, and a sweet breath out. Spread your ribs, let your belly soften, and notice how incredibly delicious breath feels in your body. Delish!

2.       Get your feet naked and plant them in the earth. Kids do it all the time. Running barefoot in the yard, and they’re crazy with joy. You don’t even have to do the running part—just enjoy the sensation of the earth under your feet.

3.       Say something nice. Not something to placate someone else, but a genuinely nice comment for yourself! A favorite Psalm, a line from a poem, or a simple, “I’m worth it!” can shift the climate of your inner landscape. In an instant, you’re living someplace nicer!

I’d love to hear whether you’re already feeling connected to nurturing yourself, or whether these ideas helped open up a new sense of peace for you. What are your favorite ways to take care of lovely, totally worth it, you?

Ohm...?

Last night, I was in the beauty aisle of Walgreens, surveying the various sequined and feathered objects meant for female hair. "Tacky, tacky, tacky....where is... hmm, not tacky enough." I was going for sickeningly, disgustingly, absurdly tacky.  Some seriously stupid bling.  You see, my older girls were supposed to dress as rock stars for their school Glee concert (how I got myself into that, I'm still unsure...) 

And somewhere in the makeup and pulling outrageous (but modest) why-did-we-keep-these clothes out of hiding from closets, I found I was actually having a good time.  I also found some hair pieces that fit the bill and the concert was a success, despite the fact that one of my daughters had generously glitter-glued one of her nicest shirts in an effort to be festive for the occasion.

Matter of fact, having considered the circumstantial evidence, it seems I'm back to normal and even more so: I was kept too busy to (gasp!) blog this week.  My husband went on a business trip while my parents simultaneously left for vacation, my older kids were at school, and I stayed home relearning the necessity of coffee and how to make it again.  Finally found grounds, pot, and hot water, combining them to create a concoction which made it clear why cafes stay in business.  And once again, I donated to the cause of all Donuts getting Dunkined.  Yes, okay, it's an addiction.  And indubitably, I'm lacking some supplement or key vitamin.  But until an ulcer says differently, I maintain that coffee is much more fun. 

I am also relearning that if moms like me don't make coffee and pray--simultaneously--you may as well go back to bed and stay there until the toddler hands you (yes, hands you) a fully-loaded diaper two minutes later.  At least with me, if I don't (prayerfully) imbibe coffee by a certain point of the morning, I get slower and stupider as the day progresses. It's like I don't have a brain until I have coffee.

Okay yes, fine, part of this problem is because, okay, I'm not getting enough sleep.  I do need to relax more after all the trauma and drama.  And I am trying really, really, really hard to relax.  Pursuit of relaxation has taken me to the wonderful land of Groupon and sales in services like massages and facials.  I chose both. 

Upon entering the massage parlor, my eyes finally adjusted enough in the dim lighting to see the front desk whereupon was displayed a list of such reasonable, sensible rules as: "Clients shall have showered within eight hours of treatment" and "Clients shall not have contagious diseases."  Then I made out the form of my somewhat disheveled practitioner sitting behind the desk, boasting a bottle of Pepto-bismol in lieu of beverage.  (I'm serious). And I reflected on the reality that people don't always practice what we preach.

After taking me (?) (!) to see her certificate of massage certification hanging on the wall, I was asked to "disrobe to my level of comfort."  Now, as a seasoned rheumatoid (yep, that's a word) I've had therapeutic massages before; as a woman who's given birth to four children... No problem, you know?  These people are extremely professional and the draping is very thorough.  So I get on the table, wrapped in all appropriate blankets.

She was a chatty one.  I heard all about her martial arts career.  I was told what various muscle manipulations were for (without my asking).  I particularly recall one where she said, "Now watch this; this is very relaxing: I'm going to push hard on your rib cage and shoulder here to release the (some muscle group)."  Naturally, I tensed up when I heard the words "push hard," and then was confused because the pressure was barely perceptible....

Anyway, I was somewhat reassured that the Pepto, which she voluntarily chose to explain, was necessary due to an inadvisable meal she had consumed the day before.  Hoping so vehemently, due to my absolute phobia of the stomach bug, I closed my eyes and tried to relax, listening to the recording of a thunderstorm.

"YOU ARE LISTENING TO SOUNDS OF NATURE, RECORDED FOR YOUR DEEP MEDITATIVE EXPERIENCE.  AS YOU PONDER THE INSCRUTIBLE MYSTERIES OF..." A deep voice boomed these words from what had once been the sound of a rain CD.  I burst out laughing, thereby ruining part of my draperies, as the practitioner starts loudly swearing, bustling towards the CD player, punching buttons and rapping at it with her knuckles.  "CATHY!  What have you done to this **&$&! machine! I have a CLIENT!  Get IN here!"  I scrambled to rearrange my draperies as I realize I'm suddenly expecting company... "Cathy" (I assume) rushed in while they both fussed at the I-pod, CD combo machine, still reflectively booming stuff like "AS YOU DELVE INTO YOUR INNER CORE, YOU WILL FIND THE GREAT PEACE THAT FILLS THE UNIVERSE" for 12 minutes (12 minutes which, looking at my watch afterwards, apparently came from the hour massage I'd Grouponed for.  I mentally noted that "you get what you pay for.":)

Did I learn my lesson?  Ha!  Concluding that trying massages without recommendations was a probable waste of my time, money, and patience, I still went for the facial.  Hadn't had one of those since two days before my wedding in 2001.  Sounded less invasive, and possibly youthening.  (Yes, that's now a word, did you know?)

So I get there, was presented with a terry cloth wrap, and asked to change into it with the opening in the back.  Wondering if it was somehow ordained that every office setting I entered in life would now involve changing into johnnys, I protested that I (really) just wanted a facial, on my face. 

I was informed that "the products we use could alter the coloration of your shirt should anything drip upon it." Vaguely wondering if they used bleach on face now, I observed my shirt. 

I liked this one.  I changed.

Clutching the white wrap, I was then paraded (why oh why) to a room full of prone women on tables with pads on their eyes and wraps around their heads.  Realizing I was to become one of these women shortly, I sighed and let go of my former idea of sitting in a chair with someone tentatively touching up my face.  So again, I get on a table, pull the blankets about, and wait for the relaxation to arrive.

Once they found out how to wrap "all this long hair" (why, thank you) my eyes were covered with pads soaked in something I earnestly hoped was beneficial.  I then realized, as I tried to take a deep, cleansing breath, that I was in near danger of drowning.  My facist (another new word) employed large handfuls of lotion that went suddenly from my chin, over my lips, and immediately all around my nostrils.  I was soon sputtering and giggling and trying to breathe.  Which meant my facist got chatty (well hey, I'm friendly too... who needs to relax anyway) and we gabbed throughout the process when my mouth wasn't covered with other lotions and potions.  Overall, the experience was okay but... well, if I'm being picky the technician evidenced increasing symptoms of halitosis as the facial progressed.... Ah well. 

Approximately 39 hot towel applications were used where one's face is wrapped in a towel dosed in hot water, covering everything but one nostril (most of the time), and firmly pressed.  This was followed by (perhaps they ran out of lotion?) a dry-plastic-gloved facial massage which was so odd as to also require a new word: scrubtrilescant.

Well, I tried to relax with these appointments in the midst of normal mommy life, to no avail.  My husband took pity on my bold and useless attempts.  Thus, I'm writing you from a hotel, where I have been put for two nights ALL. BY. MYSELF.  To think, and write, and sleep. 

Yes, I just felt the emotion surge towards me just change from pity to envy.  :)  Rest assured, I have not spend a night alone in a room, in a place I didn't know anyone, since I visited the Nashville Dominican Convent as a potential postulant when I was 19.  So perhaps this was somewhat overdue.

Thank you for your prayers.  I actually have time to pray, alone, for all of you, and I'm using it, with so much gratitude for all your support during these past few weeks. 

"Truly my soul finds rest in God; my deliverance comes from him.

He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress where I will not be shaken."  Psalm 62:1-2