Read the title again.  And again.  And now, allow yourself to accept it.

Now listen to me very carefully when I say this, self-care is not always sitting in a beautiful Instagram worthy bubble bath with a glass of wine that causes you more stress setting up than bringing you peace.  Self-care can be anything from painting and making and being artistic, to meditating and relaxing, or reading a book, cooking, making yourself a cup of tea. 

It doesn’t need to be sheet masks, fuzzy socks, a robe, candles, or rom coms.

And self-care, contrary to popular belief is not, and does not have to be inherently feminine.  I hate it when people act like it is or has to be.  Self-care is for everyone. And it can be anything that makes Y O U feel better. Even if it’s just in a small way.

Sometimes, self-care means getting yourself a Gingerbread Iced Latte from Dunkin and an everything bagel with cream cheese and distancing yourself from literally the only person in the world that you want to talk to; because it feels like you are the last person on the face of the earth that they want to talk to. Maybe that’s just my perception, I don’t even know anymore.

I think this is especially hard after you’ve spent your day bringing your Grandmother to a CT scan at the same hospital that your mother was in and out of while being treated for cancer before she died.  I sat in the parking lot by myself for over an hour today, and I have a lot of thoughts about it. None of them are good, and I don’t know if I feel like sharing any of them, really.  I just know that I wish I’d never seen Condell ever again.

No matter how old I get, I don’t think that will ever change.

It also doesn’t help that today is the 8^th day of NaNoWriMo, and I’m behind.  Again.

So, I guess I’m going to sit here, eat my bagel, drink my coffee, and try to feel better. Because something’s gotta give, damn it.

-Sky