#selfcare

I just got back from the gym where I met with a personal trainer. We focused on strength training and I felt sooo good. I got out my Mood Meter app on my phone for the first time in years and rated myself somewhere between happy and hopeful. Maybe strength building cures the blues and anxiety. Maybe I am carrying over the buzz from seeing "A Very Die Hard Christmas" last night with my friend Cara. Maybe it was the great phone call with the Boy today. I wouldn't say he was euphoric--that is not the goal. Instead, he was introspective and reflective. He was saying he has been bored lately. Instead of it being a complaint, it was more of an observation, like "That's interesting. Why is that and what am I going to do about it?"

When the Boy was in Wilderness Therapy, the staff at his program tried to get the parents to focus on self care. This was hard for me. I was used to taking care of other people and not so much myself. This self-abnegation came in different forms, from not spending much money on myself to putting my family's needs first. If there was a play for me to see or take care of the kids while Jack worked, then I would take care of the kids. Part of this is just being a parent. I remember when I knew I was ready to be a parent -- when I had more to give than I needed to take. Unfortunately, I interpreted that to mean give almost everything to others and save little for myself.

Yeah, I needed some balance.

I am trying to take advantage of my time as an early and unexpected empty-nester to focus on taking care of myself. I was talking to Cara about my year of physical therapy after I tore my ACL. At the end of 2015, I had just lost a brutal school board election and I had no job. My dad once told me one of the secrets to happiness is to have something to look forward to, whether a vacation or dinner with friends. After the election, I didn't have much to look forward to, not necessarily in a bad way. I was going to have to regroup and figure out a new plan. Then, I got hurt and couldn't walk properly for about seven months. I was never in pain, but physical therapy was uncomfortable. Why wasn't I completely depressed? How did I get out of bed in the morning? Theoretically, I should have been miserable, but I wasn't. Why?

Was it the daily exercise? Was it the delightful company of my physical therapist, Evan? Was it because I was almost writing every day? Was it because I was listening to music every day, reading lots of book? Watching cool stuff on Netflix?

Recently, I had a realization: maybe I wasn't depressed because that was the Year of Self Care. My goal, focus and purpose was clear: I had to heal and recover. I had no choice. Not walking was not an option.

It wasn't all rosy, but there were some upsides. I gained about twenty pounds, but I still was in decent shape. My left knee was injured but in the process of physical therapy, my tetchy right knee got better, too.

My family kicked in and helped around the house more. I wasn't the only one doing laundry, cooking or cleaning. For several months, I couldn't empty the dishwasher. Was I happy because I got out of housework? Or was in because they all had to chip in and take care of me for a change?

I am looking back at my ACL recovery year with the lens of self-care, and hoping to apply it to this year, too. The Boy is gone. He reminds us of the challenges of being in a therapeutic environment. Part of his being gone isn't just that he needs to be in a place to heal, but the rest of the family needs to heal, too. Mental illness is a family system issue, just like alcoholism or workaholism. Everyone plays a part in the dynamic, and we all need to adjust if we are going to get better.