Widow's Voice

Extreme Self-Care

| Posted by:

Emma's_Eyes_by_Rachael_Goldfarb.jpg

If I excel at anything
(And I deliberately use the word “excel”)
It is that I practise Extreme Self-Care

Extreme
Self
Care

I am proud of my skill and expertise
Haughty, maybe even arrogant
For without it I too would surely have died

And what use is yet another
Premature death?
None whatsoever

Here are some of my pet phrases
And if not daily, then
Weekly Practices

“Go gently, girlfriend”
“You’re doing okay, chica mia”
“If you chose to be kind to yourself, what would you do?”

“You’re doing the best that you can
With the resources that you have in this moment”
And of course, “It’s OK that you’re not OK”

Yoga – even if just Savasana and Child’s Pose
A walk with my dog
Stroking the cat

A run in the forest
A walk in the mountains
Sunshine on my face and wind in my hair

A massage or other healing treat
Each week if I have the time and money
A swim and a stretch in the sun afterwards

Frothy coffee in bed
Not one but two
Until I am ready to get up

Delicious and healthy food
Wine, red, white or rosé
With or without bubbles

Piano or other instrument-playing
Listening to music on Vinyl, CD or Spotify
Going to a concert together or alone

Films galore at arty cinemas
Supported by my cashmere shawl and flask of herbal tea
And all the better if the film makes me cry

I don’t attend others’ loved ones’ funerals
Or weddings
Unless they will provide more healing than pain

I smile at myself in the mirror
I help the edges of my mouth point upwards
With a gentle supportive nudge

Just yesterday I (re)learned that stroking firmly downwards
On my solar plexus brings a soothing calm
I notice and store and use and share these practices

Being with my Medjool
Gratefully reveling in and relishing his
Endless warm kisses and embraces

Saving and savouring and re-savouring
What it is to be touched, seen
Felt, loved

A conversation with my alive children
And a chat with my dead loves
Oh – and of course – an early night

Extreme
Self-Care
With pride

 

About Emma Pearson

My life is a whirling mix of swishy strands, dark and glowing brightly, rough and silky smooth – all attempting to be seen, felt and integrated at once. Here are some of my themes.

I am British and now recently also French (because of Brexit), and I have lived in France for the past 21 years. I am 55 and sometimes feel to be an “older widow”, and yet I feel so young. I lost my best male friend Don to bowel cancer in September 2015, my brother Edward to glioblastoma in January 2016, my husband Mike to pancreatic cancer in April 2017, and my sweet youngest child, Julia, to grief-related suicide, in July 2019. And I met a new love (let’s call him Medjool, after my favourite kind of date), off one single meeting on a dating website. Our relationship has exploded into blossom as of June 2019.

I am widowed and I am in a new relationship. I have lost a best friend, a sweet brother, a beloved husband and a precious child, and I still have both parents who are alive and well. I live my days with my grief wrapped in love and my love wrapped in grief. I no longer even try to make sense of anything. I just hope to keep on loving and living for as long as I can, while grieving the losses of loves that are no longer breathing by my side.

I suspect my writing here will be a complex mish-mash of love and sorrow. I also write on http://www.widowingemptynests.com/.

TO LEAVE A COMMENT ON A BLOG, sign in to the comments section using your Facebook or Gmail accounts, or sign up for Disqus.