Last week I wrote you about my simple little grounding practice.

How I lay my hand on my heart and whisper to myself,

“I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

Well!

Since then, all week, I’ve been noticing all the places in my life where this isn’t quiiiiite true. I’ve been seeing all the little cracks where I let myself down.

Sharing such a tender, intimate practice made me watch myself with bigger eyes, the way you look around your house differently right before your coolest friends come see it for the first time.

I’m not beating myself up– in so many big, important ways, I AM a kind wise badass amazing safe caretaker of myself.

(Especially compared to years past– hi, can we talk about my twenties.)

But I noticed that there are some places where I could do a better job.

For instance:

I stayed up waaayyy too late the other night because I accidentally tapped open Instagram when I was tired, and then I couldn’t escape the zombie scroll, even though I was literally saying to myself, “This isn’t even fun, I don’t even like this, I want to stop…” but dear reader. Guess what? I could not stop.

And then I stayed up late watching TV another night (ahem, theme?) because I had pushed too hard all day and by the time evening came, some part of me was like “Fuck you then, I’ll just MAKE something nice for me,” and turned a show I normally like into a weird revenge-binge.

Both of these were shadow pleasures after a day when I pushed past my own needs too many times.

It’s like physics. It all comes out of somewhere.

If my body and spirit don’t get what they need during the day, they’ll hijack my evening and just take something, even if it’s something that makes me feel gross afterward.

The mornings after, I felt small and pitiful. Tired and foggy. I didn’t feel safe and nourished and well loved by myself; I felt vulnerable and sheepish and ragged around the edges.

It’s so nerdy, but so much of keeping myself safe in my own care is wildly unsexy.

Paying taxes. Renewing a passport. Saving a password now so I can find it later. Putting bills on autopay so I don’t have to worry about due dates. Booking a massage a month in advance so I know it’s there for me. Quarterly solo retreats. Drinking a glass of water instead of another cup of tea. Scheduling my next session with my coach. Asking my accountant the embarrassing questions.

All these are ways in which I tenderly and fiercely care for myself. They’re how I show myself that I can trusted. That I’m in good care.

This isn’t the fun kind of self-care you’ll see on Instagram– it’s certainly not as glamorous as a trip to Italy or buying silk dresses– but it’s so powerful. It makes me feel so safe. It lets me take a deep breath and relax into myself.

What about you? What’s the thing trying to climb up into your mind right now, waving “me me meeee” at you? Yes, that annoying and prosaic thing. The one that you would do for future you if you were a really kind wise fearless grownup of a human.

Me, now I’ve got an alarm set for each night at 9:30pm.

It says, “BE GOOD TO YOURSELF! PUT DOWN YOUR PHONE AND READ A NOVEL.” And it’s got lots of emojis on it because my brain is a simple creature.

I’m hoping this will help me to remember to remember.

Remember to be a good parent to myself.

Remember to be a good tree.

Remember for current me to take care of future me.

Because that’s how I make her awesome.