“Yes, I’m going to be doing some self-care,” I heard myself say to one of my still-regularly-working friends.
“Oh, must be nice!” she retorted. “I can’t even remember the last time I went in for a pedicure.”
And this exchange gave me some food for thought. Us wonder women of the world do not consider “self-care” as a priority in our lives. It’s something we fit in when the bills are paid, and the kids are fed. It’s a gift we will rather guiltily “treat” ourselves for jobs well done or weeks completed without killing anyone.
When I was a young mum, I never got my nails done and seldom trimmed my hair — there was not the time nor the money for such luxuries. We were in a paycheck-to-paycheck household and anything beyond the basics would have been laughable. Occasionally, I’d sneak a guilty pleasure onto the credit card that I knew was already unsurmountable, and the guilt I felt from that little financial skirmish kept me satisfied for a good while.
Now our kids are pretty much gone from the bank accounts, it is much easier to remark self-indulgently, to myself, “Gosh, my roots are shocking,” and book the next available slot at the beauty salon without feeling remotely bad. The fingers and toes ditto. When they are approaching the shocking stage, I will book myself in. I won’t check in with anyone, and my guilt level is zero. I have earned all of these things. My daily pool time is considered an essential to the well-being of myself and others.
According to Mr. Google, “self-care is any intentional action you take to look after your physical, mental and emotional health. It is not a luxury or a selfish act. It is a basic need that helps lower stress, prevent burnout, and keep your body and mind well.” I think there is a lot to that. Sometimes I just need to “do me” — to step outside my daily life and have some totally selfish time, which, apparently, if you follow the doctrine according to Google, isn’t even selfish.
Last week I took care of both physical and mental self-care tasks that filled me right up to the brim and beyond. My husband and I went to a head spa in San Jose. This is not a luxurious item, I tell you; this is now an essential self-treatment in my life. I have never enjoyed someone washing my hair and massaging my scalp so completely that I cannot believe it has taken this many years to get me to that place. I simply did not want the afternoon to end. For days after, my head was tingling with joy and my hair silky soft. That will certainly go on the regular self-care circuit in the future.
Next it was time to “do me” and go see my friend in Pismo Beach. Now she’s moving to Los Angeles, I needed to make an excuse for a visit before she departs that fine area. I found myself saying a sentimental goodbye to places I have frequented down there over the years, as if I would never have a chance to go back again. As my father noted about the photos I sent over to him, those beaches and that pier and light and sunsets have a “quintessential California glow” about them. Though not quite as desirable during the holiday periods, the area is absolutely stunning without reserve. There is also an essence of Pismo that I carry back with me in my soul after every trip.
To curb my sadness at her leaving, we agreed to meet up again in Pismo, which, let’s face it, is about midway between the Central Coast and LA. We might even do a football game at Sofi for another meet-up — football, another thing that tops up the old self-care bucket. Though we had supposedly “watched” the pre-season 49er game in Alex’s BBQ sports bar, we were actually too busy chatting to pay much attention — also playing bar bingo, which was a lot of fun and good for free food and drinks! Happy times was realizing that the game had recorded on my TV at home. All well there!
My self-care basket was full to the brim at this point, but I just needed one more thing before I left — a large bowl of clam chowder from Wooly’s to satisfy my taste buds and put the cream on the top of my down south adventure. That stuff is a must if you are in the area. The creamy amazingness with lots of chewy clams. I could have brought a bucket back with me.
Arriving home from the beach, it was time to celebrate 28 years of marriage — and they said it wouldn’t last — and head off to our celebratory “Painte and Sip” Class in Gonzales at the Field Crew Tap House. The talented Corali knows how to work a room and get the dummies — us — to illustrate their own version of the painting in front of them, which is a lot of fun. If you have never tried it, I highly recommend it as a self-care item on a day off. I noticed friends, sisters and even the odd husband having a really good time in that place. And the drinks they serve there are yummy too. The whole experience was very lovely and great value.
Next, we were bid to eat at Luigi’s across the street on their last day in business. And how sad is that. We have been enjoying lovely Italian food from Ben and the crew for about a decade now and we are so sad to see them go. But people don’t eat out as much as they used to, businesses close by had closed their doors and they needed to make some changes. And isn’t that just a rather sour part of life. But we loved our last meal with them, knowing we will still be able to visit them in Marina, where they will be opening up in November — maybe not as Luigi’s, but still with the great Italian food they serve and lovely hospitality.
So, the week that was boasted an enormous amount of self-care and I feel mentally and physically very well, thank you so much for your concern. Though I haven’t cleaned out any of the cupboards I promised myself I would do, certain bills have not been paid and the laundry room is sky high and smiling at me in mountainous piles, I wouldn’t have traded the life treats that were bestowed on me over the last several days.
I check the calendar and ooh; there’s some more self-care on the horizon in the form of a mani-pedi and a haircut. Glory be! Whoever has time to go to work? As my daughter wryly noted, “Must be nice.”
Columnist Lucy Jensen may be reached at lu*************@***il.com.
