Four kids with fevers. A husband 1,000 miles away on business. Me: still wearing pajamas at 4 p.m. I think I brushed my teeth. My hair is definitely not brushed. There’s no chance I’ll find time for that hour-long yoga class I’ve been wanting to take. I end up eating a bag of microwave rice for dinner, then finally shower around nine, only to realize I’ve run out of shampoo. All of this and yet, today represents a huge improvement from where I’d been just months before. At least I have my health.
Nearly a year ago, I’d driven myself to the emergency room, convinced I was having a heart attack. I’d been ignoring troubling symptoms for months: lightheadedness, nausea, headaches. Now, with these complaints reaching a fever pitch (and a terrifying new pain sensation jutting down my left arm), I dropped everything and got in the car. “I’m going to the hospital,” I told my husband, doing my best to remain calm and not alarm the kids.
AdvertisementADVERTISEMENT
At the ER, a kind technician immediately administered an EKG, which thankfully, was normal. I wasn’t having a heart attack, but something was definitely wrong. As I waited to see the doctor, I wondered, How had I let myself become a cautionary tale? Suddenly, I was that mom, who put off basic self-care to the point of finding myself in crisis. I would never let my kids never miss a check-up — but I hadn’t been to a dentist in two years.
It wasn’t just my health I’d been neglecting. There were other sacrifices, too. When my kids and I went to the mall before school started, for instance, I ended up putting back the items I picked out for myself, so I could buy them all the latest trends. On the first day of school, my eldest daughter sported brand new “mom jeans” (ironically) that cost $75, paired with a halter top from a store “everyone shops at.” I wore beat-up yoga pants and a threadbare tank top I bought 14 years ago.
I was excelling at motherhood. I was the one who ensured my kids were freshly bathed, healthy, and fashionable, all on top of orchestrating an immaculate house, a fully-stocked kitchen, home-cooked meals, themed birthday parties, impromptu playdates and sleepovers, and perfectly planned-out vacations. The mom who stayed up late to hear (truly terrifying) tales of middle school mean girls, answered a preschooler’s desperate calls for water at 4 a.m., breastfed a wiggly baby, and helped with a fourth grader’s homework while preparing three different dinners to suit the likes and dislikes of multiple culinary preferences — that person was falling apart as she kept her thriving family together. I was failing to take care of myself in every aspect, whether that was putting off a long overdue mammogram or allowing my skin-care routine to devolve to the point that applying moisturizer was a win.
I’d be lying if I said I drove home from the ER that night and started putting my well-being ahead of my kids’ immediately, never looking back. But I scheduled those health appointments — and didn’t even cancel or reschedule them, which meant relinquishing some control over the house and the kids. A subsequent visit to my internist revealed I suffer from low blood sugar and low blood pressure, which explained a lot about what I’d been feeling leading up to my ER visit. Worrying about those mystery symptoms likely led to extreme anxiety, which I’d mistaken for a heart attack. I also saw a dentist, got that mammogram, and bought myself a few outfits, and even some makeup to replace all the expired ones. I’m not exactly a new woman, but I feel better about myself, especially after the 20-minute morning yoga sessions that are part of my routine come hell, high water, or kids with high fevers.
I’m also chewing on a new theory: It’s not martyrdom to put back those outfits and put off my doctors’ appointments. These actions are signals to my kids that I don’t value myself. It’s more than that though. My family deserves the best version of me, but maybe so do I. Adjusting my mindset to include my needs is tricky, and I work on mattering every day, every hour, every minute. Mattering is a practice, like yoga, and when you stumble on the mat, most teachers will tell you to laugh at yourself and just keep going, until you find your flow, with the breath, the movement, and the intention. After a while, progress happens.
AdvertisementADVERTISEMENT