Sometimes self-care (or, just managing all the details of adulthood) is a bit like carrying all the groceries home without a bag, while riding a unicycle. Challenging, requiring extraordinary balance, and resulting in a lot of fucking juggling and shit being dropped. lol

There are dishes on my counter. 😦

My vanity is strewn with a couple days of earrings I’ve worn and not hung back up.

I haven’t  yet gotten on with my plan for re-organizing the studio to make room for my Traveling Partner’s music gear and whatnot.

The deck still looks like my landlord stacked all my potted plants willy-nilly against one wall (which is what he did do, and I have not yet restored order).

Well, shit. Still human. LOL

My nails need a touch up, the laundry needs done, the bed wants made (well, actually, it hasn’t said as much, I just prefer it made)… There are things to do, and at least for me, pretty much all of this tedious housekeeping and maintenance “bullshit” is part of my self-care; I do best in an orderly, tidy living space, that feels comfortable and cared for. It aggravates me and causes me stress when things slip, however briefly, and however inconsequentially. Few guests would look around and take note of the plate, coffee cup, and fork, rinsed and neatly sitting on the counter, waiting for me to empty the dishwasher of clean dishes. I do. That’s what matters; it nags at me. It reminds me of trauma, and past terror. Same with things like my unmade bed; who really fucking cares? Me. Laundry? Well, clean clothes are nice, and I’ve got weekend plans, and at least one item I’m thinking about wearing is in the laundry, so in a purely practical sense this is a chore that needs done, but…

I look around and allow myself to really see the untidiness as it is; not that bad. I allow myself to sit with both the acknowledgement that it isn’t that bad, and also the awareness that it is not as I prefer it. I allow myself to be aware that this feels like I’m letting myself down. While that’s uncomfortable, it’s also real – and okay. I breathe and let go of the stress over a neatly organized, rinsed, 1 meal stack of dishes on the counter. I’ve got this. Just needs some juggling, and attention to details.

Verbs. It also needs some verbs. Don’t forget the verbs.

Fucking hell, self-care is hard sometimes, yeah? Do the things. Do the stuff. Do the things and the stuff. Sort shit. Handle shit. Manage shit. Do tasks. Check in with self. Repeat. It’s a lot – and it sometimes feels like I’m doing battle just keeping myself on track with my self-care. Why the hell is this so hard? I get up and go to work every day like a fucking machine – how do I not also come home and relentlessly take care of me, also? (Easy answer? Not enough spoons.)

I’m still learning to “pace myself” in life. lol I am reminded of a humorous song, and pause myself to listen to it. Smiling I sip my coffee and remind myself that all of it takes practice, repetition, more practice, iterations of improvement over time, refinements based on what really works – and throughout all of it, I’ll still be quite human, quite prone to fatigue, totally likely to let something go another minute, or overlook something that in some other moment felt quite important to get done. All of it totally okay, and very very human. 🙂

I check the time. My coffee is done. It’s time to begin again. 🙂