I Can Do It My-SELF!

When children are small, one of the first signs they're becoming a little person is their declaration -- usually loud and clear -- that they want to do something. "I can do it my-self!" they announce. And at that point, if those within earshot want to avoid a meltdown, they will back up and let the child try (or at least help the little one to do so).

Somewhere along the line as I matured, I reached a point where I lost some of that commitment to myself. I live alone. I support myself financially. I negotiate my own car deals. And God help the poor soul who tries to debate me on anything I know much about. But when it comes to self-care, I've had to learn some things in recent years.

Maybe it was movies and television shows pushing the idea that everyone else in the world has a life partner. Or maybe it was a backlash against all the individualism hype that undermines connection and community in this country. Or maybe it was the endocrinologist introducing me to insulin in the same conversation that he told me I could die in my sleep. But whatever it was, I got into the mindset that I needed somebody else to take care of me.

This was an inconvenient conclusion since I wasn't even dating, the pace I keep kills intimate relationships, and I could die in my sleep with or without somebody else in the bed (so there's no point in being especially afraid of that). Still, I got stuck from time to time in what Pilgrim's Progress called The Slough of Despond because I didn't see a way to address my "problem." I thought I needed other people -- or at least one other person -- to take care of me or I would just have to do without. I had forgotten that "I can do it my-self!"

I'd love to tell you that I had the Ah-ha! moment this week and it immediately changed my attitude, but it didn't happen like that. I've been arm-wrestling this issue for years. Back and forth. Back and forth. Two steps forward, one step back. I felt as if I was getting nowhere fast.

Fortunately, therapy, a 12-step recovery program, self-help books, the wisdom of age, and necessity had given me enough coping skills over time that I was doing better than I might have been, but I was doing it grudgingly, as if someone else taking care of me would do it better.

This week, though, it dawned on me that I'm fully capable of doing a dandy job of taking care of myself already, if I just get over thinking it's not enough. I get an hour full-body massage every other week when I go for my chiropractic adjustment (and I don't have to reciprocate). I go to the movies when there's something I want to see (and find someone to talk with about it later). I eat when I'm hungry and what I'm hungry for -- alone in a restaurant with a good book if the mood strikes me. I go to sleep at a decent hour in a great bed at night. I pause a show in the middle and come back to it when I'm ready. I listen to audio books and fantastic jazz. I change my schedule at a moment's notice. I sit extra long over lunch or coffee with a friend when I have the time. I manage my diabetes using insulin, dietary supplements, exercise, sleep, meditation and prayer, breathing exercises, being outdoors, and watching selected comedians on Netflix. I'm even learning to say no! And I never thought that would happen!

So -- instead of feeling that something's missing and my life is the less for it -- I'm going to start celebrating my ability to take really good care of my-self. After all, Valentine's Day is coming up in a couple of weeks. And I give great hugs.