Giver.

A giver. An empath. These words define me, sometimes I’m told. Don’t get me wrong, they don’t always define me. But I’ve learned through some hard self-analysis done in the context with my own therapist (yes, counselors need counselors and often benefit from the growth that happens through that relationship) that I am utterly terrible at taking time for myself. When someone, anyone, needs something (a sandwich, a bandaid, a chore done, sleep, a resume, a new wardrobe, a meal or month of meals, school supplies, a big sister…) a giver and an empath is the first to step in and try (try being the key word) to save the day. When a giver does this, the elusive term “self-care” equates to selfishness in the mind and boundaries are irrelevant. Giving with this intensity, as you might guess, often leads to burnout if not kept in check. The burnout can look like the exact opposite of all I’ve described, looking something like a twisted version of introversion, like one who just wants to stay in bed alone all day and not help anyone or care about anyone because all that is needed is sleep and maybe a little food. Sound extreme? Maybe. But maybe this is what my brand of perfectionism looks like. I didn’t choose it on purpose. My parents, who have always loved me and are still married (50 years!), didn’t wish this upon me. Sometimes a blend of environment, genes, and one’s own perception of what life throws at them results in the morph of a very good thing. In my case, I unintentionally morphed being a giver and empath into a breed of person who needs to start from square one on the basics of that all-too-easily-tossed-around-in-our-culture-term “self-care.” How is someone like me to “do” self-care without constantly thinking in my head that it’s a waste of time? This is the post I should have written two months ago, before Covid19 transformed the world . Yet, the writing didn’t happen. Case in point: as I type this my son came inside crying that he needed bandaids for having skinned his knee. Yes, his dad is just around the corner, and it’s Saturday, and I told his dad that I was going to take 30 minutes to myself to write in the blog I started months ago. But I’m mom. Moms, you understand. So part of the lack of self-care time is this role. But for me I have learned it is even something more. I think my quarantine experience of Covid19 is starting to bring the blurry lessons into focus.