Self care looks different at different times. Each day, self care can take a different form. There hasn’t been a “self care is ACTUALLY…” post yet that I can’t relate to, depending on how I’m feeling, but one thing holds true:
Self care is hard.
I’m writing this on a bad day, a day when maybe self care looks like just… staying in, because I don’t have the spoons to go out, and spending hours trying to forgive myself for that. Self care isn’t glamorous today, it’s not a bath or a mug of tea, it’s lukewarm leftovers and beer. Self care is doing the bare minimum, and it’s still so fucking hard.
Maybe today, I eat. Maybe I drink a beer and stay sober and maybe I don’t get trashed and maybe I don’t relapse and maybe, today, that’s self care: eating and staying sober.
Maybe tomorrow I relapse, or the next day, or maybe I never relapse ever again. Maybe tomorrow, eating and staying sober come easy to me. Maybe tomorrow, self care looks lie a mug of tea and a calming bath, and maybe tomorrow I’ll spend several hours trying to forgive myself for needing that extra ~frilly~ self care. Maybe one of these days, self care will take the form of cleaning my house, because I can’t deal with how much I hate myself anymore and at the bare minimum, I can clean so I’ll stop being such a fucking trashy waste of space, or maybe I’ll try to forgive myself for not cleaning, or maybe I’ll realize halfway through my bath that I never checked the mail, or maybe… or maybe…
That’s it. That’s my life. That’s the big neurodivergent secret: it doesn’t actually matter what your self care looks like, but it matters that you let yourself have some, and it matters that it’s not easy and you do it anyway.
Self care is hard, it’s difficult, it’s taxing, it’s frustrating, and if you can care for yourself easily, then you might not understand why such tiny little gestures are upheld as the most important thing you do all day. But for those of us who can’t take them for granted, trust me when I say: they are very, very important. And the fact that we know they’re tiny gestures makes them all that much harder, because the shame of knowing I can’t do any better is devastating.