A GUIDE TO SELF CARE, FOR THE SELF HATERS

For a while now, the term ‘self care’ has made me wince. The thought of Instagram show-offs tits deep in patchouli oil, while I stay for yet another extra hour in my windowless office, writing an article about hysterectomies, fills me with disdain. I would love nothing more than three hours of sock-drawer organisation, or watching depressing BBC Four documentaries (definitions of self care are personal FYI) but unfortunately I have an entire 10,000-strong organisation relying on me to deliver ten pages of outstanding content every week. Even fitting in bathtime can prove tricky (apologies to fellow passengers of the number 10 bus).

However. The last two weeks of added pressure (we have a book out – did we not mention?) have seen my stress levels rise to unchartered territory, to the detriment of my mental health. Amidst the hurriedness of my wake up-work-sleep relentless routine, I failed to notice the rising tide of surrounding water in which I was drowning.  So fast-paced were my steps, I didn’t even notice that my heartbeat was far too rapid than is healthy, nor did I spot the inflamed skin on my nail beds which I’d picked within an inch of their life – a classic symptom of anxiety a la Eve. I’d miraculously bypassed the bleeding blister that tinted my boots an eery shade of crimson.  It wasn’t until I sat down to eat my first proper Shabbat dinner since I was ten years old, that I heard the whimpers of my body. ‘FOR THE LOVE OF GOD BUY SOME BLISTER PLASTERS’ it said.

 

More fool me – the smelly idiot who poo-poos self care routines and instead, replaces them with torturous regimes so unpleasant they literally draw blood. Through spoonfuls of Kosher chocolate mousse (surprisingly delicious, by the way), I chatted to friends and family and felt, minute by minute, the bolts of tension releasing throughout my body. I suddenly took notice of how I was actually feeling which unfortunately made me embarrassingly teary. But in a good way. Once the emotion had been honoured with the appropriate reaction, I could accept it, discuss it, and move on. I slept through the night for the first time that entire week.

Perhaps shunning self care wasn’t the best idea after all. Yet, even with the knowledge that a mere hour reserved for relaxing activities could improve my physical and mental health, the prospect of doing so still makes me feel…icky. Self-serving; narcissistic; lazy. In fact, the problem is that my sense of value and self-appreciation is, to say the least, a little fucked up. So how are we, self-confessed self-haters supposed to grant ourselves the privilege of doing something that serves only to benefit the image staring back at you in the mirror? The person of which you are most unapproving.

Well, it ain’t easy. And maybe this is where my beef lies with the army of flawless influencers and their visual depictions of #sundayselfcareday which almost always involves either a fucking avocado or a putrid-smelling pot of something from Soap and Glory. For those with clinical mental health conditions – one in four Britons – the very act of even walking into Boots and daring to spend £1.19 on a raspberry mud face pack seems unfathomable. The minute we entertain the thought of gifting ourselves something pleasurable, our bastard ass brain must swoop in to kindly remind us of the thing we fucked up at work this week, or the collection of microscopic blackheads at the side of our nose – invisible to anyone but us.

It all seems rather dreary, but it needn’t be forever; improving your sense of self worth is not only possible, but crucial to your long-term mental health. And that is where self care comes in. Even Beat, the UK’s leading eating disorder charity, emphasise the fundamental role of self care during eating disorder recovery. The esteemed organisation has declared this week ‘Self Care week’, and is encouraging supporters across the country to organise pamper nights for a gaggle of friends, raising all-important funds in the process. ‘Making time in our lives for acts of self care and encouraging our friends and family to do the same is really important for our mental and physical wellbeing – what if we all did this more often?,’ Beat asks.

But one contributor to Beat’s self care mission is all too aware of how complicated such a campaign can be, especially when it is aimed at people with eating disorders.  Becky Blomfield and her Gloucestershire punk band Milk Teeth have set about introducing self care rooms at every gig of their upcoming tour, in honour of self care week. Having suffered eating disorders for 15 years herself, Becky knows the struggle to actively seek out gratifying experiences and activities. So, she brings them to you.

‘Eating disorders are so focused on self restriction and self harm; a feeling of needing to punish oneself,’ she says, ‘to some it may seem trivial, but it is amazing what a difference it can make when people allow themselves to be treated or looked after.
‘Self care has been a huge help in my own recovery. Everybody deserves self care and support, even if it’s just somebody listening to them whilst they’re being pampered or providing distraction from their everyday.’ Head down to any one of Milk Teeth’s 11 shows (starting on Thursday in St Albans) and expect to find green rooms open to their legions of fans, awash with nail varnishes, face masks, bead making kits, notepads and, of course, the band themselves. The initiative is both to ease fans into the idea of self care, and raise money for the charity that rescued Becky in her time of need.

‘My mum used Beat’s services when I was a very ill teenager,’ says the 27 year old, ‘I have wanted to work to support them for a long time. Our mini tour fell in line with national self care week and I had been emailed by BEAT about holding fundraisers. It seemed like the perfect alignment.’

 

Helpfully, Becky provides some examples of her self care activities that don’t actually feel like, or sound like, self care. No gristly bath salts or cucumber eye packs required. Thank god. ‘Self care includes listening to music that makes me feel good or relaxed, going rock climbing and even showering and wearing a moisturiser I like the scent of,’ she offers.

Something as trivial as making your bed – or even just plumping up a couple of pillows – also counts as an act of self kindness. Since adopting a new attitude to self care in order to avoid spontaneously combusting, I have mastered five low-key self care activities which my bastard brain is gradually coming to peace with. They include: buying a new shampoo from TK Maxx priced over £8.50; drinking a full-fat latte a couple of times weekly, and dedicating two hours on Sunday afternoons to the joy of baking, crafting sugary treats that only I am allowed to inhale. Or, buying a tub of ice cream and eating at least two thirds. I must say, I’m getting exceptionally good at it.

Donate to Milk Teeth’s campaign and raise funds for Beat by visiting justgiving.com.