What We Talk About When We Talk About Self Care

What do you think of when you hear the words “self care?”  Do you think about spa days and mani/pedis?  Do you think about taking a little time out of the day to meditate and center?  Is it something you have to spend money on?  Or is it just some new fad being used as a marketing tool?  Self care can mean a variety of different things depending on who you are and what you need.  

Oops, They Did It Again

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 Meeting Notes – RE: Sexual Harassment

Hello!  We’re your HR team.  Thanks for having us at your year end meeting.  It’s been quite a year, hasn’t it.  And while there’s a lot going on outside of the workplace, we want you to know we’re also focused on what’s going on here.  Given the recent . . . spate of accusations that have been in the media, it’s a good time to revisit a certain topic.  Yes, today we’re going to talk about . . . refrigerator etiquette!

I Wish You Love

So the holidays (or holiDAZE, amirite?  Hahahahaha, I’m sorry) are rapidly approaching and in the past I’ve been blessed (#blessed) to have this be a happy, cherished time of the year.  I’ll admit right out that I’ve never really celebrated the religious aspects.  It’s never been the big draw for me. 

Tell Me Where is Depression Bred, in the Heart or in the Head?

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. Dumb tweets are nothing special: there are probably more of those than there are dust mites in our beds. However, l felt compelled to respond to this one in particular because it was a statement I had heard at several points in the past.

Justa Hunka, Hunka Burning Rage

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.  

What Is Love? (Baby Don’t Hurt Me)

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.  

The Magic of Movies and Memory

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. 

Out, Damned Spot!

There’s a spot on my hand.  It’s not a mole, I have plenty of those and I know how they look.  I had one on the same hand as the spot.  It isn’t a freckle either, it’s too weird looking to be a freckle.  It isn’t a pockmark or a scar or a scab.  I know exactly what it is.  There isn’t enough denial in me to pretend.  I could scrub but it would still be there and even if I scrubbed it off my skin I would still know that spot existed on me.  And this damned spot is a problem that won’t let me be.

When It’s The Worst

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.  It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself there’s no way that EVERYONE is looking at me.  That it’s self-centered to think that way (I’m not that important, really I’m not).  I still can’t stop feeling awkward and unusual and lonely and scared.  I pack up my backpack (if I even go into the coffee shop to begin with) and walk to my car and realize that I barely talked to three people all day (all to do with work) and that I haven’t actually touched another human being – actual, physical touch – in a week.  The next day, I go out again to try and make some kind of contact but the result is always the same (because I am always the same). And this isn’t the worst.