We joke at our house that I am the human equivalent of a sloth. I would be perfectly content most days to relax reading a book and drift seamlessly into a nap. Laziness is not the culprit in this case. Lack of energy, however, is a real thing. Throughout the week, I work an average of 45 hours in a job that consistently raises my cortisol levels. In my line of work, people do not typically like to see me coming. I’ve been yelled at, threatened, kicked off property, pushed, and called names. I’ve seen floors covered in animal feces, deer kept in dog kennels indoors, decomposing corpses, children living in squalor, and seniors unable to care for themselves alone. I wonder why I do what I do on a daily basis. It’s because people matter. And if you’re not able to feel safe and at peace in your home, the impacts extend to every aspect of not only your life, but the community around you.

When I say “peace in your home”, what I mean is that you can sleep soundly knowing that your home is safe, secure, and healthy. This is an important clarification, because I have four kids at home and, therefore, true peace does not exist. I know you get me. Recently it’s become evident that in order to maintain any semblance of sanity, I must make critical and conscious actions to take care of my mental and physical health. 

Ugh, self-care. This is something I’ve struggled with most of my adult life since school-organized sports are no longer a reliable outlet for my aggression (my stress often manifests as anger, selfishness/victim mentality, and micromanaging my family).  In my early twenties, before kids, I hit the gym with enthusiasm and maintained a svelte physique and relatively calm demeanor. After kids, a divorce, remarrying, gaining two step-kids, and a couple of career changes, oh, and aging 8 years… heck—kiss all of that youthful free time and energy goodbye! Some people get massages, manicures, or go on long retreats to get away from it all. I believed for a long time that I would “grow into” preferring these options, but I have yet to reach maturity on the pampering front. And that’s ok. Self-care looks different for everyone.

There’s no amount of detoxifying mud or seaweed that I could slap on my body that would take my stress away like intense physical exercise and breaking a good, hard sweat. My dad, in his infinite wisdom, has known this about me since I was a child. He would send me out to run laps around the house when I was a kid to burn off steam, and in college he bought me new running shoes after a particularly difficult break-up. However, my self-sabotaging brain actively denies this truth whenever the conditions aren’t exactly ideal (it’s too cold or hot, I saw a spider outside last week, there are donuts on the counter, etc.). I’m like a magic 8-ball of excuses. My fear of trying and failing presents as identifying all external distractions and subsequently giving them all more power than me, the human. These thought patterns and behaviors are not serving me well, so I decided to make a change. ::cue the Rocky theme song::

Fourteen seconds into my first “comeback jog” it became abundantly clear that my physical conditioning was not in peak form as it was ten years ago. A few first thoughts: my body has betrayed me, self-care sucks, maybe this isn’t for me. My muscles and joints were not as strong or flexible, so instead of listening to the evil DJ in my head and giving up, I pivoted. I started to wake up early and walk my dog for 30 minutes every day in my neighborhood. Fortunately, my crippling anxiety is not triggered as I walk up and down our lane in the wee, dark hours of the morning. Occasionally I venture to the neighboring subdivision, but more often than not the thought of a freak bobcat or coyote mauling keeps me within the safe confines of the less-than-a-quarter-mile-stretch-both-ways court whereon I can see my house at all times.

In the daylight of weekends and random weekdays, I load up the pup and head down to the Heritage Trail system, a short jaunt from the house. To keep myself moving and motivated, I created the game “Stick or Snake”. It is as it sounds: I keep my head up and try to determine whether the object on the trail ahead of me is a stick or a snake. Occasionally in the summer, I will leave my glasses in the car and wear my non-prescription shades to add an extra level of risk, because I am badass like that. There are lots of sticks on the trail, and also snakes. It’s hard to tell which is which until you’re right on top of them, unless they’re big as heck. Here, you try:

If nothing else, this silly game keeps my mind engaged and distracted while my body moves and generates endorphins. It’s a trick, but it works and I’m a better person for it.

In addition to physical exercise, I have also rekindled my love of reading books. I’ll read anything once, due in part to a seed planted long ago by my liberal arts education. But the books I love, I’ll read over and over again, and sometimes tattoo their most impactful words on my body.

Whether it’s reading, running, getting inked, massages, manicures, petting puppies, punching pillows, or any other alliterative activity, find something that gives you peace. Do not fool yourself by believing that one jog will deliver infinite calm, it won’t. Don’t expect that from yourself, either, it will only exacerbate your inner-critic, then before you know it, you’ll be back at Square One. Which sounds like a trendy night club… I’m putting that in my idea bank. Do your best and take care of yourself. You’re the only chance this world has to know you. You’re the only you that will ever be. And only you decide who you are and what you choose. And when faced with the choice between fear and love, especially for yourself, choose love.