It was Friday afternoon, and we had spent the past 45 minutes in deep conversation. I was with my girlfriend and we had started with the entrée of coronavirus, followed by the main course of a global uprising, and now we were here, at dessert, discussing a book. The book in question was Religion for Atheists and I hadn’t read it but my girlfriend had. A few years before she should have, she said, because she wasn’t ready. It blew her mind. As she explained how she struggled to function as a regular member of society afterward, I declared enough was enough, it was time I read it. ‘Maybe save that one for 2021,’ she chuckled, ‘2020 has probably thrown enough at everyone.’ And with that, we laughed, and it was mentally moved to the 2021 Reading List.
We are not here to talk about religion though, but knowing your limits in this moment which feels a little like a relentless scroll of police brutality. There’s the violent footage intercepted with images of hope and resources to read and charities to donate to and reportage of the momentum building and the change happening and then the violent footage again. I don’t know about you, but my last few weeks have been spent jumping between tabs, metaphorical and not. They are important tabs, though, which is why they were open in the first place. Because there are resources to read and charities to donate to and reportage to consume. But in order to keep going and reading and donating and participating in this moment, it is also important to know our limits. To occasionally pause and take stock, if only to reopen those tabs and keep going. So today we are here to talk about self-care.
A few years ago, ‘self-care’ reentered the lexicon to aid our busy lives by selling us face masks and $83 serums, but its story in political movements is a much longer one. Self-care originated as a medical concept for patients who were in long-term care and had little autonomy over their lives. They were often the elderly and mentally ill, whose lives were overseen by health professionals but, through self-care, they could individually instil some healthy habits to improve the quality of their days. This philosophy evolved into a practice used by trauma therapists and social workers, with the overarching belief that one must first take care of oneself in order to take care of others. And in the ‘60s, during the rise of the second wave of feminism and civil rights movement, self-care became a political act. As a woman or person of colour, the thinking was that one must consciously take care of one’s health to right the wrongs of a white, patriarchal health system that often did not treat them as equal or ignored their needs entirely. As writer, feminist and civil rights activist Audre Lorde, who is often quoted on the topic, said: “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”
So as we sit in this moment, requiring more than a black tile to make significant change, it pays to pause every now and then, to close the tabs, to momentarily delete the apps, to turn off the news. To sit for a moment or stretch or walk or meditate or run. It pays to take care of yourself if only to regain enough energy to remain a sustainable ally, not a fleeting one. That is, of course, if you are privileged enough to do so. For many, this isn't just a moment, but their life, which they cannot choose to ‘switch off’ from. They are forced to encounter it day in and day out, be it at the grocery store or at the bank or on a run. This movement has demanded the world pay attention to this everyday injustice and as the world does, we have seen its influence trickling into the corridors of power where bills are being proposed and commitments to dismantle police departments are being made. This movement has also probably forced you to confront some uncomfortable feelings, whether it is shame or guilt or a different sort of weight, as it compels many to rethink their individual actions and priorities. This requires processing, and then putting one foot in front of the other again. Because this movement also needs you and I, not just last week or the week before, or today or tomorrow. It needs you and I consistently, and the only way to be there for the long haul is to take a break every now and then, to keep doing the work in whatever capacity we can.
Last week, a poem by Leslie Dwight made the rounds on social media. It read: ‘What if 2020 isn’t cancelled? What if 2020 is the year we’ve been waiting for? A year so uncomfortable, so painful, so scary, so raw - that it finally forces us to grow. A year that screams so loud, finally awakening us from our ignorant slumber. A year we finally accept the need for change. Declare change. Work for change. Become the change. A year we finally band together, instead of pushing each other further apart. 2020 isn’t cancelled, but rather the most important year of them all.’ If Leslie Dwight is right, if we are to see this version of 2020 prevail, it requires us to bring this energy until the end, and then some. This is a marathon, not a sprint so distribute that energy accordingly. It’s been a big year, and it’s only June, so consider this your reminder to take a minute, take a breath, and get back out there.
Some related (and unrelated) recommendations:
Syrup has a digestible guide to self-care in this moment. Highly recommend.
This Slate article was great. It explores why this moment is different to any other under the Trump presidency.
I found this New York Times comic on the self-help life cycle amusing. For a lighthearted moment.
This Twitter thread by Barack Obama on the steps to creating effective change off the back of protests is very helpful. He links to three good articles.
The history of self-care is explored thoroughly in this Slate article from a few years ago.
The Daily podcast episode on what defunding the police actually means is essential listening.
The entire season of High Fidelity is now on ABC iView and entirely binge-worthy. I may be late to this.
Oh, and Religion for Atheists, for your 2021 Reading List.
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