dialoguing is a newsletter from an off-duty psychotherapist keeping the conversation going on how to make sense of this life thing we’re all doing. if you ever wondered what your therapist does off the clock—which, who among us hasn’t?—this is like that. think of it as the adult equivalent of seeing a teacher at the grocery store picking out lemons. 🍋
As a mental health professional, I get pissed when words get commandeered and ravaged by the internet. THEY RUIN IT FOR THE WHOLE CLASS! The teacher’s pet in me is like 🙄
Terms like:
Boundaries
Wellness
Trauma
Self-Compassion
and finally
Self-Care
All these terms have real definitions and implications on our mental health. And yet, we found a way to shit all over them.
Because the internet and capitialism got their grubby hands on it, fellow Substacker
had to write a whole ass book, titled Real Self-Care: A Transformative Program for Redefining Wellness (Crystals, Cleanses, and Bubble Baths Not Included), about this. About how self-care is not just about face masks (nor is it about crystals, cleanses, or bubble baths as her title suggests). It’s about clarifying your values (similar to a tenant of ACT we’ve talked about before) and the boundaries necessary to support and protect said values. She rails, rightfully so, against the systems that need to change in order for most of us to have any fighting chance to fully care for ourselves. I have very little to add to that conversation–one of which is below—mostly because she’s got it handled…so this won’t be about that.However, I did start thinking about the term, “care.” So I did a quick goog. Here is what came back:
Care (noun)
the provision of what is necessary for the health, welfare, maintenance, and protection of someone or something. (Oxford Languages)
A little shiver went down my spine. The pureness of these words landed a certain way for me:
provision,
protection,
someone.
They felt more tangible, more accessible. Today’s newsletter is going to center around the provisions that protect us-our bodies, our minds, our souls. Or at least the ones that have worked for my bag of bones.
Content Warning: Discussions around being a parent, relationship to one’s body and explicit language, as always (but just like barely, for me. I only count 1 fuck…well now 2…and the other one is me quoting someone else.)
what to expect from this edition:
🎄holiday series–a care package: body, music, breath, and laughter
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