Bubble Baths & Long Talks

My hands felt sweaty on the microphone, and there was a faint shake to them, a combination of coffee and nerves. Some people have fantastic stage presence, they step in front of a crowd, and a dynamic alter ego breaks through. Me, not so much. I was my usual brand of sincerity, awkward authenticity, and random movie quotes. I did it anyway. I stood on the small stage in front of 20 some women and shared my heart and God’s wisdom.

I spoke about self-care, which I would never have imagined wanting to talk about, let alone fill 45 minutes of time on. After all, the topic and I have a complicated history. It’s one of those buzzwords that have popped up for moms in my generation, a seemingly great idea, but in practice, it’s another one of those pressure builders. Let’s go ahead and add it to the Instant Pot that is my life, on top of the pressure of caring for my kids, my husband, my home, volunteering, and being part of a culture that tells me that I have to be all and do all for my family. I had a candid conversation with these women, sharing the lessons I have learned, and the ones I am still working on.

I feel like our culture tells us that self-care is a bubble bath and a girls’ night out and that those things are all a mom needs to function. But my own experience with that type of self-care has been one giant let down. There aren’t enough bubbles in the world to wash away the pressure of motherhood. I had a suspicion I wasn’t alone in the feeling, and as I spoke to the room full of women, I saw it in their eyes; I was right. We laughed, we joked, but I could see that below the surface these women understood the impossibility of self-care as it’s often presented, and they too felt the immense pressure of it all. Some of them were sitting on the edge where one more stressor, one more problem to handle, and they would break. I know that look. You can see it in their eyes, a glance that says I’m trying to be present, but I’m also two seconds away from a meltdown, and I’m hanging on by a thread, except I’m not going to say anything about it. I’ve found myself in that place more often than I’d like. Living underneath the weight of motherhood is trying, it wears you down, it’s isolating, and many of us are moving forward on sheer willpower alone.

Sheer willpower, the hallmark of a determined and capable mother. I’ve been there, I know what it’s like holding it all together while doggedly pushing my limits. And then, one day, I found them by crashing into them at full speed. I learned that my limits are solid, immovable, and stronger than me. I can’t wish them away, I can’t ignore them, I can’t strengthen myself to resist them, they’re part of me, a part that deserves respect.

That’s how I learned what real self-care is. Sure, it can be frilly, and froufrou, it can be things that make you feel pretty. But the frilly things are temporary, and if they’re all you do, it’s like building a block tower on a pool float in the ocean, one big wave is going to knock it all down and leave you scrambling to pick up the pieces. Real self-care is actually the hardest and most simple concept out there. It’s the balance of caring for your basic physical needs and your mental/spiritual needs. In simplest terms, you need proper food, exercise, and rest, and you need Jesus plus friends who will point you to Jesus.

As I spoke, I looked at the moms across the room, and I could see as it began to click. They’re smart; they knew that the world preaching self-care to us, but providing temporary solutions wasn’t the answer. I just got to be the one to turn on the lights, to give them the incentive to care for themselves as well as they care for their children. I had the privilege of sharing my hard-learned lessons and pointing them toward hope, because if this hot-mess mom can figure out some semblance of effective self-care, then there must be hope for everyone else, praise Jesus.