When did self-care become aspirational?
It’s hard to think about anything other than the strange hands in your mouth while you’re sitting in a dentist’s chair, but the last time I opened wide, I wondered, “Is this an act of self-care?”
It was my second checkup of the week after my annual physical and I laughed to myself because rather than long baths and hot stone massages, I was filling out intake forms and posing for x-rays.
For men, it’s easier to opt out of the products that are marketed as beauty or relaxation aids, but sometimes this avoidance bleeds into essential care as well. There’s a dark joke I half remember about farmers (along with the assumption they’re male) that if they come into the doctor’s office saying their wife made them do it, they need to go straight to the ER, and if they come in on their own, it’s probably too late.
I don’t pretend to know how to mend a fence or plow a field, but I’m not immune to the denial that comes with still thinking you’re a twenty-something despite dragging around the body of an older man.
After letting a back injury linger far too long before seeking professional treatment last year, one of my resolutions is more stretching and movement. The silver lining of brushing up against some of my body’s limits is that I’m appreciative of everything it can still do, and moving it with intention and grace is the best way I know how to return the favor.
If that’s not self-care, I don’t know what is.