There is no “one size fits all” where self care is concerned

 

We began our Camino in Porto, Portugal from the front steps of a luxury hotel, a splurge on the first night of our adventure. We had a packet of directions and maps that were intended to guide us each step of the way. The first paragraph of our instructions said we could take the nearby metro to the edge of town and begin our journey at ocean’s edge, thus avoiding “the more industrial part of town”.  Our invisible guides didn't know Anne and I; Some might call us “compulsive” but we prefer to think of ourselves as “thorough”. We balked at the thought of skipping any portion of our camino. So, that morning we put on our packs and stepped out the front door. There is a photo of that moment, we look fresh and confident. Our instruction packet said we had a fifteen mile day ahead of us. Perfect, we’d been preparing all summer by taking twelve mile hikes. We believed that a first day of fifteen miles would be just right. It would have been, except for the fact that we failed to take into account the additional seven miles added by our decision to skip the metro! 

 

We never did regret our decision, as those additional miles were truly beautiful: A mist shrouded river, fishermen out for their early morning catch, abandoned harbor-side lots smothered in morning glories. It was the right choice for us, yet, even right choices can come with painful consequences. 

 

The twenty-two miles we ended up walking that day set our feet on a course that took us an entire week to recover from. The muscles in my feet ached from stone meeting bone through my cute minimalist shoes. Anne’s feet were covered in blisters for days. More than anything, we learned that each footfall mattered. Self-care became linked to survival. We needed to be careful and diligent in our choice of paths. There was no room for a cavalier attitude if we wanted to feel good. Luckily, later in the journey, we could ease up a bit. My feet grew stronger and Anne’s blisters healed. We could, with time, pay a little less attention to each step, but that wasn’t the case in the beginning as our feet were in constant pain.

 

The first time I hit a painful crisis in my “real” life I was reeling as a result of thirty-six years of emotional self-neglect. My life, as I’d known it, had come to a screeching halt as a sixteen year marriage crumbled in a day. My pride, security, and self-esteem were shattered. I was a mess and scared to death. 

 

Fortunately, I had friends, and a God, that pointed me in the direction of appropriate self-care: A twelve step program, and the Catholic Church. Though raised a Protestant, now I needed a Jesus hanging on a cross, someone I saw could understand pain. These weren’t the days that I could think about life after the burial tomb because I was still floundering in the dark. I started attending mass daily. Every time I received the Eucharist I felt a little stronger, or at least a little less desperate. I went to 12-step meetings and met with a sponsor every week. I was like those women who become iron starved in pregnancy frantically ingesting the minerals they need from any source possible; I was searching for emotional support wherever it was available. 

 

With time I became less depleted, even happy and content, and with over twenty-five years of “recovery” under my belt I’ve built my emotional reserves to the point that I no longer require the diligence I once did. Though I still aim for a daily physical, and spiritual practice, the truth is that I can afford to skip days. I have a little latitude, and I know that I won’t really lose ground in any damaging way if I shift my routine and temporarily focus on other areas of my life. 

 

Still, seasons of stress can come out of nowhere to test my resilience. I seem to be in one of those now. Within the space of three years I have lost my father to Alzheimer’s Disease, my parent’s last real home to fire, and my mother’s wise mind to the same disease that had just claimed my dad. My husband faces serious health crises, and a brain tumor is stealing a dear friend. I’m back in that place of scrambling to find lost joy. I’m tired and there are days I wish everyone would just go away and leave me alone. There are other days I feel lonely and wonder where everyone went. I’m back to the basics where self-care is concerned: sleep, exercise, and meditation. It doesn’t feel good yet, but at least I’m not losing ground. 

 

Even during the “good days”, before life started feeling out of control again, the particulars of my self-care practice had shifted over time. An aging body has led me away from running (once an unthinkable shift) and into yoga and hiking. I don’t go to church these days, also once unthinkable, because I find that the sense of peace and connection with God and other people I crave now comes from other places; While that used to worry me, the truth is that when I took an honest assessment of myself I discovered that church was no longer my truest medium for community or worship. I can choose to ignore and deny this for fear that the impression I make on God (or others) will suffer, or I can acknowledge my truth, my needs have shifted for now and I need to pay attention to that.

 

Just like in life I became aware, as I covered miles on The Camino, that my strategies for self-care began to shift as well. My muscles strengthened and I learned to wrap the ball of my weakest foot in athletic tape so that the long miles no longer affected it as much. I realized that one shoe-strap pinched my foot, so I cut a notch in it and never struggled with that pain again. I still sought the “soft spots” on the side of the road, but not as compulsively. My feet had adapted and I had a little more latitude. 

 

I also came to appreciate that self care takes on different meanings for different people, others don’t necessarily need what I need. I’m a California girl and have never been very affected by the heat. Anne, on the other hand, comes with “an impaired cooling system” and felt the sun’s effects immediately. While I was traversing the road looking for the softest surface, she was like a shaggy dog searching for every sliver of shade. Unconsciously we adjusted to each-other's needs. I sensed her concern for me as she ceded the softest route to me, and I tried to allow her the side of the road closest to high walls so that she could experience the greatest protection from their shadow. I’ve noticed that when we care for others we become attuned to what it takes for them to take care of themselves, and we allow them their own routine. The safe people in our lives do the same for us and don’t offer judgement if our own needs shift and become different with time. 

 

Interestingly, on our second day we met a fellow pilgrim, a young man from Italy who was resting in the shade of a small village church. He was wearing the same shoes as I, and when I asked how his feet were holding up on the stony roads he laughed and told us he had grown up on the cobbled streets of Rome. Feet were not his problem; he had other issues! There it was again: One more piece of evidence that what affects me, and requires such diligent self-care in my life, may be of little concern to someone else who has a different story.

 

Reflections:

 

The Camino taught me that self care is never a one-size-fits-all-forever proposition. As we change and age, our spiritual, physical, and emotional needs change as well. Reminiscent of that game of “Hot and Cold” we played as children (“It feels good, your’e getting hotter; It’s not helping, you’re getting colder”) we need to pay attention to what helps and hurts with the ever changing seasons of our lives.

 

    1.  Do you have a physical, emotional, and spiritual practice that truly strengthens and replenishes you today? 

    2. Is there is an element of your self-care practice that has become more routine than effective?

    3. What do you think you need more of in your life?  Less of?