Nearly 20 years ago, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. We lived in western Massachusetts, but her doctor practiced in Boston. Although she was physically capable of driving herself, I made myself useful as her chauffeur, hand-holder, and joke-teller. I was a single mother, retail worker and community college student, so if anyone asked about my career, I would falsely boast about my promotion, “waiting room professional,” which always elicited a confused mild chuckle and a slightly concerned look.
Although my mother was scared, hurting and exhausted in many ways, we still had great conversations on the countless times we braved the Mass Pike for the long roundtrip journey. Saying we had fun would be a stretch, but I look back on those times with a distinctive tenderness, partly because it was an incredible responsibility to be trusted as her sole support person, but also because our relationship took on a sudden acute poignancy since she may well have been actually dying. (I’m happy to share that she’s now completely healthy!)
Once she’d been safely deposited at her appointment, I’d stagger around the giant hospital, emotionally windblown and discombobulated, not knowing what to do with myself. At the first of many such visits, I stumbled across the blood donation center, numbly walked in and offered up the contents of my veins. Once I passed the (albeit very problematic) screening questions, I found an effective way to pass some time and enjoy some light banter with fellow donors and kindly phlebotomists. The best part was being encouraged, well, essentially required to eat free cookies before I was allowed to step back into the anonymous river of sad harried people flooding the halls of the hospital.
Somehow, I discovered a way to be more than just another morose waiting room zombie watching Oprah reruns while thumbing an outdated magazine. Instead, I guiltlessly reclined for nearly an hour and was cajoled into eating Oreos by a stern yet warm maternal figure. I stepped away from my fraught reality to relax and recharge with nary a pricey crystal in sight, and now I see that donating blood was my version of self-care.
Clearly, what was slightly uncomfortable to me would be unbearable for someone else. I don’t mind needles, yet many others find them powerfully unbearable. I had free time on my hands, which is also a luxury that many of us don’t have access to. Lastly, I have a desirable blood type, which I had no control over receiving, yet I have exclusive control over giving it away. While I didn’t feel terrifically empowered or strong, I had quite a few privileges, which I jokingly refer to as “superpowers.”
Often, it seems that conversations derail when the word “privilege” gets introduced. Instead, what if we start referring to our individual advantages as superpowers? In doing so, we can reframe our understanding of our respective advantages and remember that superpowers come with great responsibility to one another, as we’ve learned from Spider-Man.
On some level, I recognized that what I really needed was to lie down and eat cookies, but as a broke community college student and caregiver, giving myself permission for such extravagance was ludicrous. The reality is that relatively few feel that they are “allowed” to take the time, energy or expense to engage in any form of self-care. Few of us even have the means for true and robust self-care, never mind who has permission or not. Looking back, I see that I swapped in some mild discomfort for a bit of healing, and that’s what allowed me to feel that it was actually acceptable for me to chill out for a few minutes. I had been fully indoctrinated by a system that insisted that only some people are entitled to taking care of themselves, and strangely enough, they all seemed to be wealthy and white … go figure.
Given that the doctrine of self-care is a deeply rigged and flawed system, here are some suggestions for how to get what you need and maybe help others in the process.
■Invent your own ways of taking care of yourself — define it loosely, wildly, broadly. What makes you feel good, calm, happy, rested and healthy? Please don’t let anyone else define your self-care for you, especially if they are trying to sell you something.
■Give permission and encouragement to yourself and others to take good care. Even if you have to trick yourself into succumbing to being well (like I did), or be a self-care buddy for a friend. Bring them a treat, maybe take a shift at work so they can have some time off … How can you support them in being whole?
■Identify your own superpowers and use them for good!
■Dare to imagine and work for a society where all our contributions are valued equally, where each person’s needs and perspectives matter.
■If you are in a position of power, make it your responsibility to invite in the voices and perspectives of those farthest from the decision-making. Opening up these conversations to help shape culture, policies and rules around workplaces can expand options that might make self-care more realistic and accessible for all. Don’t assume that you know what’s best for all workers; ask them to be a part of the process.
This is only a partial list, and I would love to hear your ideas. As for me, I will continue to give blood regularly, and I invite you to join me, especially now as the need is critical. But I will also continue to strive for a future where each of us can feel safe to lay down and eat a cookie if and when we need to, without opening up a vein.
Chelsea Kline is a women’s leadership-focused life coach and writer who lives to find the funny in almost any situation. A graduate of both Smith College and Harvard Divinity School, Chelsea’s career is fueled by an unshakable belief in the strength of women, and utilizes compassion and humor to coach women towards being their most ferocious and fabulous selves.