selfie to self-care
dancing in the street
No amount of CBD oil could have helped me with the events of last week. By Friday, I was bathed in a slurry of adrenaline and cortisol and who knows what else, hormones triggered by anger, fear, pain, and disgust.
That line etched in my face grew deeper last week. Everywhere I went, I would see— probably you did too—women like me, searching for a pair of sympathetic eyes.
You’d make eye contact, sigh, and “can you believe it?” you would ask each other.
A kindred spirit, a like-minded woman,
momentarily would help. But anyway we looked at it, when we walked away from each other, we still had to ask, “what the hell is going on?” Did these events catch us off guard? Apparently so.
Many of us, we live our lives with pride. I am not sleeping, I’m intelligent, aware, and not rich enough to be complacent, we think. We smile, if only inwardly, at our more radical “sisters,” the most often, younger ones, who rage daily about the patriarchy, the white male power structure, the white women who help to prop up that power structure…
Who’s smiling even the slightest bit now?
Perhaps like me, you kinda saw this coming, after all, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. What did we expect in the wake of #metoo? Who could imagine we lived in a world governed by a childish game of tit for tat?
That asking to be heard, would result in such god forsaken retaliation?
For now anyway, I’ll spare us the allusions to how progress is slow and change hurts. Despite the toxic slurry of hormones, the real disgust and fear for the future, and the difficulties these things will cause, I’m ready for the fight. You?
dancing in the street
It’s me, running down the middle of Central Park West, this summer. I have to admit that this picture, taken by Denton Taylor, makes me smile. I have now marched down that street and danced down it too!
The tunic, from Marie Hell, fits like a yummy, soft, glove. It’s got “hug” to it, but also movement.
I’m thinking about “radical self-care” a lot these days.
I’ve heard it said that only with radical self-care on our side, can we do what we really want in the world. We need the health and stability to not just get what we want but to be able to be affective in any way at all for others.
I came late to this way of thinking. I always felt that a kind of louche attitude towards taking care of oneself was healthier in the long run. And let’s face it, “self-care” is something only those who have a relative amount of affluence can afford, and
because while self-care does encompass things like “communing with nature,” it’s the reflexology session that we all crave.
Today however, it all seems necessary: the walk in the park, the reflexology, and the little piece, of very expensive chocolate. So in the spirit of the accountabilibitches, I would like us to hold ourselves and each other accountable for some radical self-care, and leave the louche for style.
The Dinner, directed and written by Oren Moverman
No, I’m not going to become a movie critic, but I saw a movie this weekend that I think is a good one for those who might want to delve into how mental illness can affect family dynamics in the long-term.
“The Dinner,” based on the Dutch novel by Herman Koch, that one, the one we were all reading a few years ago, is the third movie adaptation made. I’ve also seen the original 2013 Dutch film, but I like this American version for now better. The film is especially timely today because
it touches on ideas about parenting, morality, loyalty, prejudice, and politics, all with mental illness threading sadly through it.
“Even if it’s all true, does it disqualify him? It certainly means that he did something really bad 36 years ago, but does it disqualify him from the Supreme Court?”
Rep. Kevin Kramer, North Dakota