Self care.

Self care.

These days I hear a lot about self care. But to me, it feels like a big mystery that I can’t wrap my head around. Much like the Holy Spirit.

I vaguely get the concept, but still feel unsure what it means or how it plays out in real life.

Certainly in the midst of this break from foster care, pretty much all I do is self care. I sleep in on Saturdays. I read Harry Potter. I take lots of walks with my dog. Don’t get angry.

But when I’m in the thick of caring for kids, self care feels elusive.

I want to find the power nap version. The quick fix to make me feel patient, kind, energized. And back at it.

But every power nap I’ve ever taken leaves me feeling drunk, mildly angry and useless the rest of the day. So maybe not a great solution.

The real problem of course is me. I am so desperate to keep going that I won’t stop long enough to hear myself. To know myself and what I need. And then to take it.

When my dear husband suggests/begs me to rest, I tell him that I can’t rest until the to-do list is done. That I’ll feel more rested by getting it done than by actually resting and letting things slide.

Up until this summer, I’d convinced myself that was true.

But lately I’ve been letting a lot slide. I rarely cook dinner. Or fold laundry. Don’t worry…I do still regularly bathe.

Sometimes I let too much go and drop a ball.

I’m figuring out that that’s okay. I’d rather not drop balls and I’m hoping that I’ll be able to find the right balance and drop fewer. That I’ll learn what does need doing and what doesn’t. What can wait and what can’t.

But I’m grateful I’m at least learning to stop dropping one ball. My own.