Traditional self-care advice doesn’t work for me. “You deserve rest” and “you can’t pour from an empty cup” are true and lovely things I tell other people, but they never seem to apply to me, whom I convince myself is a different, special kind of person.
I am an eldest daughter Ennegram three with a loaded astrological sixth house. Self-improvement is my passion, moving goal posts turn me on, and my total bliss is an (almost!) fully checked-off to-do list.
Also, I am an ~artist~, an author specifically. The temptation to self-mythologize, to push myself past my limits for the sake of Black Swanning myself into a “perfect” performance, to see my art as a direction reflection of myself and therefore a direct barometer of my intrinsic value, is overwhelming.
Not only do I want to do well, I want to do exceptionally well, and I want to look good while doing it.
However, despite my will to power, I try to regard myself with deep compassion, to be fully present in my embodiment, and to prioritize experiences and relationships over sterile achievement markers. I want to win the crown, but I also want a life of lush leisure, and I want to be as awake and alive as possible for all of it.
When I imagine collective liberation, I imagine a world in which “work and rest are equally revered”, to quote Sleeping at Last, but I have a hard time applying that framework to my own life. Even at this very moment, I’m embarrassed to write these words, because I’m aware of all the spots of mediocrity in my career that I am working on polishing, and I think anyone this neurotic about being the best should be, well, The Best.
If you resonate with this feeling, especially if your chest or stomach has started feeling tight, or you have that lump in your throat, take a breath right here with me. Hell, take three.
The fact is: there is no productivity without rest, no harvest without fallow periods, no work without play. Trying to live our lives otherwise defies every law of creation and ruins us in the process, making us sick mentally and physically, shredding our self-esteem, and estranging us from our loved ones.
If you make her, nature will break your fingers around your vise grip on your work. That’s a choice you always have, to hold on tighter and tighter with no room for leisure or stillness or rest. But I’d rather not have broken fingers.
So: here’s how I’ve reframed rest for myself to take self-care seriously.
1. Athletes understand the necessity of recovery
For someone who takes their work or their craft sooooooo seriously, you sure aren’t acting like it, bestie! We don’t raise an eyebrow when a pro athlete details the regimen of rest days, ice baths, foam rolling, sleep, deep tissue massages, and targeted nutrition that help them recover from strain. Instead, we admire their dedication to their performance, and to their health and safety. So why do we treat our own need for rest like fluff, like indulgence, like laziness? Are you not already competing at a high level? Do you not demand peak performance from yourself?
Imagine: what would the ideal recovery regimen look like for you and your endeavors? Once you have it outlined, you can take steps towards putting that regimen into practice and tweaking it as you go. Everyone will need different things. My nine hours of sleep and two therapists and regular manicures (sustained, repetitive human touch is very calming to my nervous system) certainly seems silly to some people. Doesn’t matter. This is your life and your career. You get call the shots.
2. You live in a body. It is your engine and your instrument.
You are not a floating consciousness. Even if your craft is something you don’t think of as demanding physical engagement, I gaurentee you it does. If you’re an author who types out their work, you are reliant on your brain and wrist function, and disabled authors or authors with chronic pain can tell you how much their back and hips come into play as well. This is not to say you need to be in perfect physical condition to be at the top of your game, but it does mean that you have a responsibility to take good care of y our body. Romanticizing being hunched sleeplessly over your computer living on coffee and Fritos while crash-drafting the next great novel is cute for a few years, until your body can’t sustain that level of repetitive damage anymore. If you need to remind yourself to stretch, drink water, and nap from a perspective of pure physical preservation, do it.
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