I struggle with the idea because my thinking has been molded to regard self-care, self-love, self-whatever as merely, obviously selfish.
Yet, I find my two-week self-initiated [there’s that word again] course in self-compassion to be very revealing and inwardly productive.
Writing is a wonderful tool for practicing self-compassion. I am going to write a letter to my loneliness, for example, and let my self respond. Who knows what might unfold as the year goes on?
People like me who’ve honed the art of care-taking [of others] and who made a career of service in education should already get the self-compassion thing, right? Not with the way I was raised. Not while I worked so hard to prove I was worthy.
I am going to respond to my self-deprecating thoughts in the third person, “Hey River, is that truth? I challenge your thinking.”
Now that I’m retired, I’m figuring out what to do with my art and writing, I’m enjoying gardening and taking day trips locally.
I think that being understanding and going easy on myself is overdue. I sigh when I write this. And, it’s okay that it took me this long. The time is just perfect to focus on inner growth.