There have been days lately when my life feels like one long strand of questions,
Of needs,
Of reminders,
Of places to be,
And loose ends.
Like what's for dinner?
Where are my clothes?
Did you see this?
Can you help me with that?
Things left on the floor,
Things forgotten,
Things waiting,
And something else that needs to be held together.
And I don't say that dramatically,
That is everyday life.
I say it in the way that many women probably know it in their bones,
Especially the mothers.
The way a day can be full before you have even had a chance to fully arrive inside yourself.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that,
I started doing this little thing.
I would go into my room,
Pull back the covers,
And lie down for a few minutes in the middle of the day.
And I don't do this necessarily to sleep,
Or because everything's falling apart,
Or because I had permission from the world to stop.
But because I needed a moment where no one is asking me for anything.
So I generally go upstairs to my bedroom,
And I close the door.
And I pull back the covers on the bed,
And if I'm wearing socks,
I take them off.
And I lay down in the bed,
And I pull the covers up.
And I allow my feet to gather up the covers,
So they're supported,
My feet.
And I just,
I let them,
I let them surrender to gravity in the bed,
In the covers.
And I feel the coolness of fabric along my skin,
Between my toes,
And my fingers,
Across my shoulders or my face.
And I just allow myself to breathe for a few minutes,
Maybe three minutes or five minutes.
And because I'm tucked in,
It's almost like a cocoon,
Because I'm tucked in,
I can feel my body breathe,
I can feel my belly move,
And my chest move.
And I can,
Like,
Allow my feet to really be present in that moment.
And what surprised me when I started doing this was how much those few minutes mattered.
Because it really,
It wasn't about the blanket.
It wasn't about the coolness.
It wasn't even about the rest.
It was about realizing that sometimes the care I need is not about waiting for someone else to notice that I'm tired.
Sometimes it's about noticing it for myself.
And sometimes it's about hearing the quiet voice that says,
I need a minute.
I need softness.
I need to stop bracing.
I need one moment where I'm not only what I do for everyone else.
And it's small,
But it feels important.
Because there are seasons in life where we become practiced at functioning,
At answering,
At managing,
At keeping things flowing and moving,
At being needed and being present when we're needed.
And sometimes in the middle of that,
We drift away from who we are,
From ourselves.
And I don't mean that in we drift away completely.
I don't mean it dramatically.
I mean it like we drift a little too far from ourselves,
Just enough that we begin to forget what it feels like to tend to ourselves in small ways.
So this ordinary moment,
Slipping under the covers just for a few minutes in the middle of the day became something more than a pause.
It started,
I think,
As an act of rebellion.
I'm not dealing with this right now,
Right?
But it became a habit.
And that habit shifted from rebellion to a quiet act of return,
A way of saying,
I am here too.
My body is here.
My breath is here.
My needs matter too,
Even if they're small,
Even if no one else is naming them,
Even if the day is still waiting while I'm there in my bed.
And I think that's what I want to leave you with.
Not the idea that we all need some perfect self-care ritual,
Right?
I know we have all seen those self-care morning rituals and all kinds of stuff online.
We don't need the pressure to do rest beautifully,
Right?
I want to instead leave you with this.
There may be an ordinary moment in your life.
It might be a blanket or a chair or your favorite mug.
It might be a doorway or a patch of sun at a certain time of day,
A hand on your chest.
That is quietly waiting to help you come back to yourself.
And maybe it doesn't look like much from the outside and maybe no one else would think it was important,
But maybe it is.
And maybe the kindest and smallest pause is not a luxury,
But maybe it is one of the ways you remember that you are still a person inside your own life.
And if that's true for you,
I hope you let it count.
And I hope you let the small act of care be enough for today.
