almost always, you can tell by morning. some days, you wake, hold out your hands, and your eyes take in nothing at all; as if you disappeared in the night. some days you wake knowing if you move too suddenly, speak too loudly, stir whatever unwelcome visitor is dwelling within in you, it will cause that trembling, forking crack in the dam and the sadness will flood out past your reach. maybe you’ve just gone through hardship and though still unwelcome, this visitor is expectant for a while. it’s hard to emerge from that freeze, spending the day sitting still enough, grief doesn’t crack an eye. or though an ambitious wish, hoping it looks around and gets up to leave, thinking it must’ve arrived at the wrong home.
I do think there are times our bodies ask this of us; for rest or any other reason, so use whatever remedy feels best for your ache. my only hope is that if you’re reaching in the dark for a light switch, one of these might help you feel the wall.
you know yourself best, so be free to take this or leave it here, but I know my stubbornness can keep me from fully resting the way I need. on these days, I do give myself a goal (small or big, depending on what I can manage) that will help me once I’m out of my sadness’s grip. if I say, “okay, I’m paying a phone bill, and then I’ve done all I need to do today” so I can relax fully into these techniques without feeling guilt about what awaits me when I feel better, then I do that — but I fully let go of the worry as soon as it’s over. the task is done, the day is now all mine to take care of me.
outsmart the sadness. if you know the root of what’s hurting you, sometimes helps to give it a name. describe it, research it, read, or watch how others unfasten themselves from its gravity. get a new perspective on a shared experience. find an article, a YouTube video, a podcast, or a new book to order. take notes of your studies so maybe a future self or friend can benefit from your efforts.
if you’re having trouble eating (and this is a fun practice even if you don’t), prepare anything that sounds remotely alluring with the air of potion-making. sing a charm as you chop onions. dance your hands around the ghostly steam of a frying pan. even if you can’t bring yourself to the kitchen, or all you want in the world is a cherry scone from the bakery on the corner, wave your witchy hands over it — whisper a wish into the first bite. you are spell-casting a healing salve that will make you well.
sway, or slow dance to yourself in the kitchen. feel the cool tile under your feet as you move — to a song or nothing at all. hum, close your eyes, swing yourself into a slow spin. (or shake those buns as fast as you like.) pull a soft blanket over your shoulders and imagine it a dress of extravagance, better yet if you change into one. “working out beats depression” isn’t true for everyone, but a simple sway to see if it can shake off some unease is a perfect excuse for a dance break.
if you find yourself taking care through a movie, show, or snuggling up with a pet, keep revisiting the idea, like a nurturing voice might ask, “can I get me anything? what small thing would be nicer in this moment? warmer socks? a glass of water? a lit candle? would crying feel better?” holding that softness in checking in with yourself, and wanting to tend to your needs can shift your thinking of yourself like you would a friend.
make a warm drink: coffee, tea, hot cider, even just a mug of hot water if you need to hold something in your hands. connect to this small experience. warm palms. the fragrance rising to meet you, steam lifting until it fades overhead. take a sip and feel how your body greets it. where does it sit in your stomach? how long does the taste last on your tongue after you swallow? what if you blew upward, imagined your sadness lift out of you like steam, and let it disperse past the ceiling? see how many sips you can take mindfully before another thought occurs. savor the sweetness of doing a small service to yourself.
take a walk and let the world work up a scavenger hunt that unfolds in front of you. head out with a goal in mind (I will walk until I find a moss-covered bench / a painted face on a blank wall / a person wearing something that glitters in the sunlight). this can also take the shape of finding a flower or two or six from a park and making a small bouquet for yourself, or collecting pine needles, cedar, honeysuckle, etc., to make yourself a smelling jar.
if you have a creek, lake, or pond nearby, go out and skip/throw rocks into it. rapid fire, not caring where they land, all flinging arms and fury until your arms ache. or channel all of the grief into your arm, into the stone, and see how far you can chuck that fucker. watch how big the splash is, the weight of what you give away. listen to how the water sounds when it takes it off your hands; envelops it into its depths for safe-keeping. (it sounds simple, but this is my favorite on the list, bar none.)
*note. these are mostly individual practices. if you’re in the company of others, there are endless joint conversations and practices in stepping out of this feeling, even for a little while. or, the more the merrier, invite them and share a laugh doing these together.
I hope it works, and I hope whatever heaviness is sitting with you will soon lift. this will not be forever, please remember. taking care of yourself is a precious act in putting yourself ahead of your sadness. it cannot provide you this sweetness you show yourself. hold you close.
with love,
schuyler (sky-ler)
venmo: schuylerpeck