Another Kind of Therapy

Last weekend, as my youngest daughter and I spent a few hours in the garden, I remembered how much I enjoyed the warmth of the sun on my back, the fragrance of the soil, and the feeling of accomplishment when we finished planting the bright flowers (and saw the pile of weeds we had pulled).  For me, gardening is as much about the ritual as the result. There is something cathartic about pulling weeds and clearing away the dead in preparation for new growth.  I began gardening as a hobby, but during my times as a caregiver for family members, I discovered the importance of carving out time for something that sustained me and gave me pleasure.  

Photo Credit: www.nabw.com

Like most of life's lessons, I learned it the hard way.  During my mother's last months, there was so much to do and our time was so limited that it seemed selfish for me to take a break from her care. I considered any time spent away a luxury that I just couldn't afford. I didn't sleep well, I ate poorly, and winter in Northern Ohio doesn't lend itself to outdoor activities.  By the time I returned home, I was drained physically, mentally, and emotionally.  I was also completely unable to understand how some people found the strength to serve as a caregiver for years.  

Then, I remembered one of the stories my mother told. This one was about my uncle, who cared for his paraplegic wife for many, many years. Each week, he played tennis, and like most caregivers considered giving it up since he felt guilty about his "selfish" habit.  Luckily, someone - a good friend, or maybe a therapist - intervened and convinced him how necessary this time was for his own well being.  I can only imagine how great whacking a tennis ball must have felt.  

My mother, who faced challenges I didn't understand until I was a wife and mother, was lucky enough to have a best friend as a next door neighbor.  Several times a week, they would visit over coffee, sometimes for just a quick cup but sometimes for hours.  Their conversations were almost always light hearted and full of laughter.  Looking back, I realize that this was their way of coping with the life before them.  Knowing that they had a comrade in arms is what got them through.  

As we gardened, my daughter and I talked about how good it felt to yank roots out of the ground, and how I imagined every weed was a problem I faced or something I was angry about.  While my back is usually pretty sore afterwards, I'm usually calmer and better able to deal with whatever challenges remain. And, looking out on a beautiful, brightly colored, and vibrantly alive garden always brightens my mood.

The form it takes doesn't matter.  What matters is that you do something that is solely for you. Join a bowling league, yank weeds out of the garden, join a book club, go to church, or take a class.  Soak in the tub once a week, amidst bubbles and good smelling bath salts.  Find something that appeals to you, that nourishes you, and protect that time as vigorously as you protect the one you care for.

How do you nourish yourself? I'd love to see your responses in the comments below -- you might give someone else an idea that they can use!  

The Value of Ritual

"The human soul can always use a new tradition.  Sometimes we require them."  - Pat Conroy, The Lords of Discipline

There is something special, calming, and centering about repeating a practice until it becomes integral to who we are.  Then, the specific steps stop being the focus and we can concentrate on the outcome, the reason for the practice. My rituals are common place, but they center me and connect me to those I love.  My morning coffee allows me to focus on myself and prepare for the day ahead, while my nighttime routine builds unbreakable bonds with my children.

I've tucked my daughters in every night since they were babies.  When they were younger, the routine included telling a story, singing songs, and lying in bed together talking about whatever was on their minds. No matter how long my day at work was, this time was sacred.  Today, my teenage daughter and I simply exchange "Good night!" before she heads to bed. That saying is filled, however, with memories of the earlier ritual, and the unbreakable bond built during those times.

Over the years, I've come to understand that taking time for these - and other - rituals isn't selfish and doesn't mean that I'm neglecting others.  The practices that I integrated into the core of my being made me a stronger and better caregiver, mother, daughter and wife.  What rituals do you follow?