Self-Nuture (and Looking After Yourself When You Don’t Think You Deserve It)

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This week has been a horrible one. I had T1 yesterday which was horribly rough, just one big disclosure and heaps of shame and self-blame and disgust. What I want to write about, though, is almost the last thing she said to me in our session. Could I try and do one self-nurturing thing this week?

I was shocked by my response – I don’t deserve it, I can’t, no, plus a nice dose of panic and the shakes, too. And then she said something about how, normally, she’d ask me to do one kind thing for myself a day, but she knew that was hard for me, so she was starting with one.

As I was driving home, two things about that sentence hit me. First, a warm fuzzy feeling of how well she knows me, how she holds my boundaries safe and she’s safe with what I need and what I can do. After a painful session that was a lovely realisation. But the second thought was cold and metallic and ‘ouch’. Am I really that awful? Do I really hate myself, body and soul, that much, that I panic attack over just having to do ONE nice thing? That’s disgraceful!

I spoke to a friend last night who suggested that I actually ignore T1’s limit and try to do one nice, self-nuturing thing a day. Not because someone has told me to, but because I deserve it. I’m feeling pretty traumatised and violated right now, so it’s the perfect time to actually spend even a few minutes a day caring for a very broken, very sore me. And the panicking? I’m just going to have to suck that up. I am worthy enough to spend a tiny blip of my day on myself.

So, I’m not seeing T1 for 7 days. 7 self-nuturing activities. My friends had lots of good ideas, but many of them have triggery undertones – so I turned to google, and found this wonderful resource, which has bundles of ideas to get me started.

Yesterday, I started reading ‘Never Let Me Go’ by Kazuo Ishiguro, which is on my ‘how to survive the summer without T1’ book list. It’s seriously weird but I also can’t put it down… So yesterday and today, my self-nuture has been reading, curled up (with Woo the giraffe threaded between my fingers, obviously), and not feeling guilty for spending time on such frivolities. How very bizarre… I’ll see how I go.

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