Let me explain.
My self-care has sucked for well over a year and a half. Epically sucked, in fact. Grief does not allow for multitasking of any kind. I could only focus on simple and select routines.
Like my very complicated skincare routine. Double cleanse, layer on the serum(s), apply thick night cream, making sure to bring it down to my décolletage. Oh, and between each step, we’re layering with a hydrating mist, because that's what I saw on YouTube. Then seal that shit in with a light layer of facial oil.
My skin felt incredible.
Let me add: self care isn’t just about applying a facial mask. It can look like setting boundaries, hydrating with plenty of water, saying “no”, speaking up, eating your greens. My overly-complicated evening skincare routine was probably overcompensating for other untended areas in my life. Plus it tied into consumerism, because incredible skin needs some incredible products, don’t you know.
Slowly but surely, I’ve been building back in the small things. The simple routines.
Such as making my nightly ginger tea.
As the sun sets, I’ll head downstairs and fill the kettle. I’ll grab fresh ginger and a small lime from the fridge. Limes are king here and I’ve grown accustomed to the bracing, acidic punch of lime juice in my tea. I might be a convert.
While the water boils, I’ll commence to peeling a hunk of thin-skinned ginger, calmly, quietly, scoring the flesh, then giving it a good smash with the backside of my knife. That, and the freshly squoozed lime juice goes in the glass mug, then boiling water. I might even add a thick spoonful of raw honey if I’m so inclined.
Back to the shower of a lifetime.
One of my favorite things to do when I’m feeling heavy and dense is give myself a good salt scrub down, then shower. Afterwards, I am reborn every. single. time. It’s like losing 10 lbs of heavy energy. I always sleep like a baby on those nights.
I was like today is the day. I’m going to scrub myself raw with salt.
And then I’m going to shave my legs.
Which my god, it’s been months since I’ve shaved. So long that when the wind blows, I can feel my hairs sway in the breeze.
Shaving means something, I’m not sure what. Is it prep for sex? Is it for the male gaze? For female approval, going with the feminine “norm” of bare and hairless. I mean, I don’t have a huge motivation to shave these days. If I don’t have a partner, who cares?
But I want to care. I want to actively care about silly shit like shaving my legs. Because it means I’m heading towards something other than apathy and self-loathing. I’m not saying women who choose to forgo shaving are apathetic and loathe themselves. This is purely a me thing.
Also the water here is hard as a rock here, and I feel like a husk.
Shaving the forest took a good bit of work, requiring plenty of warm water and soap. But it was glorious. Afterwards, I slathered myself with coconut oil and immediately my skin glowed.
And here I am, in bed with a hot mug of ginger lime tea, without honey, listening to the crickets.
I feel soft and nourished, grounded and calm.