So, guys. I was cruising around the Google Image search looking for inspirational quotes on self-care the other day (anyone else do that? Bueller? Bueller?), and I saw a mantra that just rocked me to my core.
It said, very simply, “Hold your own wellbeing sacred.” And it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that if you could have looked inside my head, you would have seen all the lightbulbs in a lightbulb store flipping on. Now, of course, this isn’t a new concept. We’ve all heard that we need to take care of ourselves to take care of others. And that we need to put ourselves first. But something about the word “sacred” just shot through my soul like an arrow. Sacred is non-negotiable. Sacred is elevated on a pedestal. Sacred is above everything else. Sacred is paramount. Sacred is a line you don’t cross. That’s the kind of commitment I need to make to my wellness—sacred level.
After letting this sink in for a few hours, I started thinking about all the ways I wasn’t making a sacred-level commitment to my own wellbeing. My wellbeing wasn’t sacred when I chose to watch another episode of something on Netflix instead of getting the sleep my body desperately craved. My wellbeing wasn’t sacred when I skipped my nightly yoga session to sit on the couch and check Instagram for the millionth time. My wellbeing wasn’t sacred when I ate all the cookies in the house, when one or two was all my body really craved.
It’s not that those things are inherently bad—sometimes you need to binge watch something on Netflix and waste time on Instagram and eat a damn cookie—it’s the fact that I was putting my own wellbeing lower on the priority list than something else. My body needed me to sleep, do yoga, and only eat a single serving of cookies. And I just ignored the hell out of what it was saying. That’s the problem.
For the past few days, I’ve been doing this crazy thing—I ask my body what it needs on a regular basis. And then I answer myself. Like literally. Out loud. I have an actual conversation with myself. And then, the most important part, I actually do whatever my body needs.
The hardest part about this is being honest with myself—pushing aside all the noise, and, being as unbiased as I can, really figuring out what my body (and mind and soul) needs at that moment.
So what does all of this have to do with gooey, cheesy stuffed shells? Well, I was having a rough week last week. Nothing major, but just lots of little annoyances. And it honestly had me a bit down. Which meant I didn’t have much motivation. When meant I then felt guilty for being unmotivated. Which brought me down even more. Viscous cycle, party of one.
Right in the middle of this sour mood is when I was doing the Google Image searching to try to bring myself out of the funk, and after I read the whole sacred wellbeing thing, it occurred to me—maybe being down is my body’s way of telling me what I need right now. I need quiet. I need calm. I need comfort.
(Of note: I definitely don’t feel like mental illness is something you can or should try to just “suck up”—mental illness is a real medical concern that needs real treatment from real professionals—what I’m talking about is not a mental illness, just the typical ups-and-downs of living life.)
So I stopped fighting the blues—I went with it. I listened to what my body was saying, withheld judgement, and went with it. And my body was saying I needed to stay in my jammies, put on some comfy slippers, and eat some cheesy, gooey deliciousness. I needed to wallow. And so I did. I wallowed with three kinds of cheese and pasta and butternut squash. And it worked. Once my body got it’s fill of the wallowing, it cycled back up to all sunshine and rainbow salads and actually putting on real pants in the morning.
It’s interesting what you hear when you actually start listening to your body and what it needs. Would these stuffed shells be something my body would need every day? Absolutely not (although, they are yummy enough I could eat them for every meal). But last week, they needed these. And I’m so glad I listened to my body. Enjoy! And remember: hold your own wellbeing sacred, friends.