This really spoke to me. It’s true, twe often treat ourselves in ways we’d consider unacceptable for treating others.
In relationship to ourselves we relax and let go…and thus “let out” whatever unconscious behaviors we carry. In relation to others we wake up to our best behavior. This takes work and energy. But, when people age, they sometimes lose the attentiveness and energy it takes to be on our best behavior, and they revert to treating others as they treat themselves , with less awareness and deliberateness. It would be a great practice to start developing habits of self care that are worthy of extending to others.
Re indulgence…it seems to me, that when we’re emotionally hurting it is indulgence rather than thoughtful self care that we first reach for. Perhaps because as you say, self cafe would remind us of the lack of the care from others which is the cause of our emotional pain. I think indulgence, a decadent dessert, has a gesture of ‘forget the world’ and “forget you!” (With a finger) to whatever has hurt us, a little self enclosed escapism. Self care tends to reconnect and harmonize us with the wholesome wholeness of the world. And yet, I agree that conscious indulgence is part of the greater category of self care, as is protection. You inspire me to bring the conscientious qualities of care into indulgence…to raise the bar.
I think self care should ideally not exist much….In an ideal society, I think most “self care” should come from others…it’s more meaningful and beautiful that way. We benefit most from care when we’re in a receptive mode, receiving caring from another. If sisters or mother and daughters brush and braid each others hair before sleep while they talk, there is giving and receiving, and that builds a richer life than brushing and braiding one’s own hair. Meals, hair washing, getting dressed in the morning, exercise, etc …these used to be activities we did for each other, or at least helped each other to do. I’d like to get that back.
Thank you for your very thoughtful article. It has already begun to improve my life.
Thank you for this lovely, thoughtful comment. I'm so glad that the essay did that, and this in turn is giving me much to think about. In particular, maybe, whether indulgence might have both ”connecting-with-the-world” and ”forget the world” (I like that) versions. Maybe that's the issue with the Elizabeth Strout quote: the speaker is seeing the indulgence as closed in on itself, as you say, not as a form of appreciating the craft of the pastry chef or the excellence of the dessert itself, which would be more outward-looking. Will think on this; thank you so much.
Very thought-provoking. I love your definition of care— doing the thing that contributes to present and future well-being with the same tenderness and attention you’d do for another. I wondered about that passage: was it the dessert after all the other indulgence, not in and of itself, that was so sad? But also: the woman’s answer does seem to reinforce the idea that it’s superior to include another, rather than to care for one’s own present and future well-being directly. Fascinating!
Thank you! And yes, that Elizabeth Strout passage is interesting, isn't it? She isn't speaking to care at all, I don't think. Or perhaps the idea is that the woman eating the dessert is replacing everything that matters with a kind of joyless indulgence? I think that what bothered me was the assumption that the special dessert was in fact joyless, when it might not have been.
This is such a thoughtful and reflective continuation of earlier post, allowing me to further reflect as well. Self care does seem to have become a catch word for 'indulgence', as if it is a gift rather than a way of life that values simple self care. I am widowed and live alone, and I still find great meaning in caring for others. I'm going to observe what meaning I find in caring for myself with the same attention. To do otherwise seems a profound neglect, discounting that effort as unimportant. Thank you Maria.
Thank you for writing this. It's such a complex topic that I'm glad that it provokes thought, if not answers. But I can say for my own part that after I wrote the Milosz essay, I did a kind of inventory of the ways that I treated myself that I would indeed consider neglect if I treated someone I was in stewardship role for in the same way. Nothing so very bad in itself, but the list was long, mostly household-related but also dentists, etc. It was eye-opening. I hope that the care you give others and the care you give yourself come from the same kind of warmth in the end, which I see so much in your own writing, which I love.
Your posts are so enriching, and your reflections always swim around my head after reading, this one particularly so. I love the writing of Elizabeth Strout. Her writing is so distilled and effortless.
Thank you! I’m so glad if it adds something. It felt like an essential one to write, somehow. And agreed, about Elizabeth Strout! Have actually only read this one and Oh William, but was stunned by the writing in Oh William, and had the same reaction: astounding prose, to reach such seeming simplicity.
Do read the "Olive" ones too, they are marvellous. I have yet to read "Oh, William" but confess I partly bought it as my cat is called William and it is a phrase oft used!
That made me laugh out loud 😊. I might check out the Olive books now, now that I see how amazing her prose is. Have avoided them over the years because I happened to be at a reading once — I realize now that it must have been from one of the Lucy books in progress — and the content wasn’t quite right for me.
I am glad William made you laugh! I read "Olive" first of all. I was perversely rather put off because of all the praise, but it is entirely justified.
I am married to a man who is capable of such intense absorption in a project that he forgets to eat until late afternoon, when he is suddenly ravenous. He would never let a guest go hungry. Until I read this, I hadn’t seen this peculiar habit for what it is, a lack of self-care.
It's really shifts the world a little, doesn't it, when one reframes it in terms of guests?
How what one feels is a perfectly fine trade-off for oneself can feel really wrong as a trade-off for someione under one's sphere of care.
Your story here made me try to think of what I'd do if I had a houseguest who said that they absolutely wanted to work on a project all day and not to be interrupted, even for food. I'd likely try to fill their workroom with snacks! But it's only by reframing it from myself to a guest that it occurs to me that it's a problem to be solved at all. Would love to hear your husband's opinion.
Yes - is there a kind of virtue we claim when indulging ourselves in a task to the exclusion of care? To be so passionate, so dedicated—does it confers a sense of ‘meaningfulness’ to the task and fill some other need inside us?
Perhaps the need to feel part of something bigger than ourselves… something big enough to be capable of care.
Huh, that's so interesting! A kind of sense, maybe not really articulated to oneself, that there is a kind of virtue in neglecting one's basic needs even unnecessarily when pursuing something that matters? Will think on that… I remember that when I was a grad student, it was sort of standard to say (and think) that one was tired, because it suggested that one was was working hard all the time, with dedication, at the cost of sleep; that might track with this idea. Thank you, will think on that more, and on your last sentence too.
Interesting and thought provoking, as always. It is very easy to neglect oneself - in itself a form of indulgence, perhaps. It occurred to me though, that indulgence often runs counter to care. Indulgence is providing something a friend asks for, that you know they’re trying to give up; care is refusing, knowing they’d regret the lapse later. Indulgence is letting myself spend 10 more minutes in bed; care is making sure I’m up early enough to do all the stretches I need to do before work, to combat my musculoskeletal problems.
I’m glad! Yes, agreed absolutely that care often means rejecting an indulgence, with an eye to overall greater well-being. The morning stretches example is such a clear one.
I hesitate, myself, to say that
care is the opposite of indulgence (or of protection, for that matter), because so often what one needs, precisely, is indulgence, in the larger way I’m thinking of it (ie, including wanting to spend one’s time smelling the roses, for example).
I’d hate to fall into a pattern that says reflexively that indulgence is the opposite of care, rather than that indulgence is just one of many options, and care is turning one’s mind and good intentions towards deciding which option is best, if that makes any sense.
Thank you for sharing this. Hopefully this will inspire many readers, including myself, to be more mindful about how we care for ourselves during many seemingly insignificant, yet very meaningful moments of our lives.
I’m glad! And agreed: the moments in which we somehow exclude ourselves from our own care without noticing it can pile up and become the norm so quickly…
This really spoke to me. It’s true, twe often treat ourselves in ways we’d consider unacceptable for treating others.
In relationship to ourselves we relax and let go…and thus “let out” whatever unconscious behaviors we carry. In relation to others we wake up to our best behavior. This takes work and energy. But, when people age, they sometimes lose the attentiveness and energy it takes to be on our best behavior, and they revert to treating others as they treat themselves , with less awareness and deliberateness. It would be a great practice to start developing habits of self care that are worthy of extending to others.
Re indulgence…it seems to me, that when we’re emotionally hurting it is indulgence rather than thoughtful self care that we first reach for. Perhaps because as you say, self cafe would remind us of the lack of the care from others which is the cause of our emotional pain. I think indulgence, a decadent dessert, has a gesture of ‘forget the world’ and “forget you!” (With a finger) to whatever has hurt us, a little self enclosed escapism. Self care tends to reconnect and harmonize us with the wholesome wholeness of the world. And yet, I agree that conscious indulgence is part of the greater category of self care, as is protection. You inspire me to bring the conscientious qualities of care into indulgence…to raise the bar.
I think self care should ideally not exist much….In an ideal society, I think most “self care” should come from others…it’s more meaningful and beautiful that way. We benefit most from care when we’re in a receptive mode, receiving caring from another. If sisters or mother and daughters brush and braid each others hair before sleep while they talk, there is giving and receiving, and that builds a richer life than brushing and braiding one’s own hair. Meals, hair washing, getting dressed in the morning, exercise, etc …these used to be activities we did for each other, or at least helped each other to do. I’d like to get that back.
Thank you for your very thoughtful article. It has already begun to improve my life.
Thank you for this lovely, thoughtful comment. I'm so glad that the essay did that, and this in turn is giving me much to think about. In particular, maybe, whether indulgence might have both ”connecting-with-the-world” and ”forget the world” (I like that) versions. Maybe that's the issue with the Elizabeth Strout quote: the speaker is seeing the indulgence as closed in on itself, as you say, not as a form of appreciating the craft of the pastry chef or the excellence of the dessert itself, which would be more outward-looking. Will think on this; thank you so much.
Very thought-provoking. I love your definition of care— doing the thing that contributes to present and future well-being with the same tenderness and attention you’d do for another. I wondered about that passage: was it the dessert after all the other indulgence, not in and of itself, that was so sad? But also: the woman’s answer does seem to reinforce the idea that it’s superior to include another, rather than to care for one’s own present and future well-being directly. Fascinating!
Thank you! And yes, that Elizabeth Strout passage is interesting, isn't it? She isn't speaking to care at all, I don't think. Or perhaps the idea is that the woman eating the dessert is replacing everything that matters with a kind of joyless indulgence? I think that what bothered me was the assumption that the special dessert was in fact joyless, when it might not have been.
This is such a thoughtful and reflective continuation of earlier post, allowing me to further reflect as well. Self care does seem to have become a catch word for 'indulgence', as if it is a gift rather than a way of life that values simple self care. I am widowed and live alone, and I still find great meaning in caring for others. I'm going to observe what meaning I find in caring for myself with the same attention. To do otherwise seems a profound neglect, discounting that effort as unimportant. Thank you Maria.
Thank you for writing this. It's such a complex topic that I'm glad that it provokes thought, if not answers. But I can say for my own part that after I wrote the Milosz essay, I did a kind of inventory of the ways that I treated myself that I would indeed consider neglect if I treated someone I was in stewardship role for in the same way. Nothing so very bad in itself, but the list was long, mostly household-related but also dentists, etc. It was eye-opening. I hope that the care you give others and the care you give yourself come from the same kind of warmth in the end, which I see so much in your own writing, which I love.
Your posts are so enriching, and your reflections always swim around my head after reading, this one particularly so. I love the writing of Elizabeth Strout. Her writing is so distilled and effortless.
Thank you! I’m so glad if it adds something. It felt like an essential one to write, somehow. And agreed, about Elizabeth Strout! Have actually only read this one and Oh William, but was stunned by the writing in Oh William, and had the same reaction: astounding prose, to reach such seeming simplicity.
Do read the "Olive" ones too, they are marvellous. I have yet to read "Oh, William" but confess I partly bought it as my cat is called William and it is a phrase oft used!
That made me laugh out loud 😊. I might check out the Olive books now, now that I see how amazing her prose is. Have avoided them over the years because I happened to be at a reading once — I realize now that it must have been from one of the Lucy books in progress — and the content wasn’t quite right for me.
I am glad William made you laugh! I read "Olive" first of all. I was perversely rather put off because of all the praise, but it is entirely justified.
I am married to a man who is capable of such intense absorption in a project that he forgets to eat until late afternoon, when he is suddenly ravenous. He would never let a guest go hungry. Until I read this, I hadn’t seen this peculiar habit for what it is, a lack of self-care.
It's really shifts the world a little, doesn't it, when one reframes it in terms of guests?
How what one feels is a perfectly fine trade-off for oneself can feel really wrong as a trade-off for someione under one's sphere of care.
Your story here made me try to think of what I'd do if I had a houseguest who said that they absolutely wanted to work on a project all day and not to be interrupted, even for food. I'd likely try to fill their workroom with snacks! But it's only by reframing it from myself to a guest that it occurs to me that it's a problem to be solved at all. Would love to hear your husband's opinion.
Yes - is there a kind of virtue we claim when indulging ourselves in a task to the exclusion of care? To be so passionate, so dedicated—does it confers a sense of ‘meaningfulness’ to the task and fill some other need inside us?
Perhaps the need to feel part of something bigger than ourselves… something big enough to be capable of care.
Huh, that's so interesting! A kind of sense, maybe not really articulated to oneself, that there is a kind of virtue in neglecting one's basic needs even unnecessarily when pursuing something that matters? Will think on that… I remember that when I was a grad student, it was sort of standard to say (and think) that one was tired, because it suggested that one was was working hard all the time, with dedication, at the cost of sleep; that might track with this idea. Thank you, will think on that more, and on your last sentence too.
Interesting and thought provoking, as always. It is very easy to neglect oneself - in itself a form of indulgence, perhaps. It occurred to me though, that indulgence often runs counter to care. Indulgence is providing something a friend asks for, that you know they’re trying to give up; care is refusing, knowing they’d regret the lapse later. Indulgence is letting myself spend 10 more minutes in bed; care is making sure I’m up early enough to do all the stretches I need to do before work, to combat my musculoskeletal problems.
I’m glad! Yes, agreed absolutely that care often means rejecting an indulgence, with an eye to overall greater well-being. The morning stretches example is such a clear one.
I hesitate, myself, to say that
care is the opposite of indulgence (or of protection, for that matter), because so often what one needs, precisely, is indulgence, in the larger way I’m thinking of it (ie, including wanting to spend one’s time smelling the roses, for example).
I’d hate to fall into a pattern that says reflexively that indulgence is the opposite of care, rather than that indulgence is just one of many options, and care is turning one’s mind and good intentions towards deciding which option is best, if that makes any sense.
Thank you for sharing this. Hopefully this will inspire many readers, including myself, to be more mindful about how we care for ourselves during many seemingly insignificant, yet very meaningful moments of our lives.
I’m glad! And agreed: the moments in which we somehow exclude ourselves from our own care without noticing it can pile up and become the norm so quickly…
I remember reading June’s essay and this one when they first appeared. If only we could offer ourselves the same care we extend to others.
It’s terribly difficult, isn’t it?
I thought that June’s piece was brilliant at bringing out the difference between disconnection and actual care.