TFFG: Issue Eight

When shelter in place started, this is what self-care looked like: eat whatever, drink whatever, comfy pants daily, shower maybe, exercise never. Sunday through Saturday blurred together – and what decadence used to be reserved for the weekends became an everyday norm. Because when the world started falling apart, I guess my coping strategy was to fall apart, too. 

For 2...4...6...8 weeks I rocked that formula. But then I woke up the other morning and my son reported on the status of my toes. He wasn’t wrong. They were gross – chipped, peeling, scraggly, neglected. Kinda like the rest of me. And as I reached for the same sweatshirt and Christmas long underwear that I’ve worn everyday like some kind of security blanket, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I needed to make a few changes. 

There was just one problem: it’s a whole lot easier to let yourself go than to hold yourself together. In my P.C. (pre-coronavirus) life, I would have gone big, banishing all crap food from the house and forcing myself to work out every day. But that’s not me anymore. My psyche is fragile after weeks of worrying and the last thing I need is some inner coach barking at me to put down the carb and go run 4 miles. So I started small – a 20-minute beginner ride on the Peloton this week and one yoga class with my favorite instructor. It’s a start.

I’m still drinking when I feel like it – aka daily. I’m still eating chocolate like it’s a food group. And my toes still look gross. But it’s okay. I’m okay. The self-care’s coming back – slowly, surely, shame-free.