Today’s prompt: What would it mean to offer kindness to yourself in your grief? What would kindness look like? How do you, or how would you, be kind to your “sad self”? In what ways is kindness missing in the ways you treat yourself?
The thing with offering kindness to myself is that it feels selfish. However, I understand the importance and necessity, and I’m trying.
When I hit a wall and take a sick day, I’m being kind to myself. I may not be physically sick and running a fever, but I’m not well. This year, even with substitutes so scarce, taking a sick day is both a necessity and a kindness.
When I’m bursting with grief and I accept comfort, I’m being kind to myself. There are days that are too sad and too much. Brushing aside the worry that I’m a tiresome pain in the ass to instead reach out and trust my safe people is a necessity and a kindness.
When teaching all day and interacting with dozens of people soaks up every drop of energy and I let myself crash when I get home, I’m being kind to myself. Spending hours on the couch with my grief, my thoughts, my iPad, and my weighted blanket is a necessity and a kindness.
When the thought of deciding what to make for supper is enough to make me cry and I choose not to cook, I’m being kind to myself. Having grilled cheese or leftovers or nothing for supper is a necessity and a kindness.
When I just can’t interact with another person and I go lone wolf for hours, I’m being kind to myself. Taking some hours away to think (or not) is a necessity and a kindness.
When old me would’ve said “yes” but this me says “no,” I’m being kind to myself. If taking on an obligation or accepting an invitation is the polite but entirely-wrong-for-me thing to do, declining—even though it means letting down others—is a necessity and a kindness.
Being kind to myself sounds so simple, but also so selfish. Maybe the ultimate kindness is to rethink selfishness.
Woods Writes 