Goodfeels Part II/ Kindness First
So as I nibbled the delectable roasted carrot from my farro bowl and contemplated that some of my favorite pastimes these days are watching brainless television and looking at other people’s pets, babies, and lives on social media and that these activities were, in my opinion, bad bad bad for my brain, I realized that once again I’d found myself in a mental self-loathing prison jail hell of my own making where what I like to do and what I think I should do seem to be extreme polar opposites. Like a voice in my head wielding a whip or crop kind of thing Cruella style is yelling, “Stop scrolling and go feed the homeless or write a bestseller or make a tasty plant-based snack for your family or burn a calorie, or compost something, or activate your core you wastoid!”
And it’s like, oh, right, that voice, I know that voice, I know this song — it’s fear lady, Evie the inner critic, not-good-enough-itis, singing the “You’re bad and everything you do is bad” song to me. Oh my how it sneaks in while I’m just trying to have a nice lunch.
And the holiday season sets up so many opportunities for comparing my private self to your public self, confirming my old default assessment that, basically, I stink and I better either work like heck to not be how I am OR at least, try to hide how I am from everyone else so there’s a chance I won’t be left alone on the veld to be killed and starved, aka: not be welcome at your holiday event, which I don’t really want to attend but to which I desperately want to be invited.
My secret shame is that after all this time in pandemic stay-home mode the idea of putting on an actual bra seems like dressing up — and I don’t feel like dressing up. I’m not sure I know how to or want to know how to anymore. For reals.
I don’t want to dress up and I don’t want to go out. I admit my feelings on public gatherings might be different if there weren’t this whole super-contagious deadly virus thing still in play. I’m sure that affects my assessment, even though our new family protocols would permit some masked socializing now that our kid is vaxxed. I’m not feeling it.
And pandemic aside, I can’t have you over because our living room is now a Lego room/weight room/indoor dog run and our dining room is now a home school/shipping-receiving station/indoor dog run.
I love you but I’m home with my husband and my kid and my dog and my highly-edited media feed which shows me what I want to see and not what I don’t. Memes featuring ducklings and newborns - yes. Memes about conspiracies and revolution - no.
I’m not proud about it, but I’m also tired of being ashamed about it. Maybe it’s the end of the world. Maybe it’s okay to do what it takes to feel a little better more of the time, assuming it’s not, you know, hurting others too much or gonna land me in jail. I guess it’s like, where am I setting the bar for myself and our kid? Is YoutTube really a gateway to meth?
Maybe it’s okay that during this time we’ve adjusted to meet circumstances beyond our control, gotten our goodfeels more from electronics than actual human interaction because that was what’s been available. Now that we’re all vaccinated screen time might naturally wane without my having to be harsh with myself or my kid. Or maybe it won’t and that could also be okay.
Kindness first feels right to me, towards myself, my kid, my family, and everyone. I can’t always say exactly what that means but I know it when I feel it, and when I don’t — it’s that unplugged interpersonal goodfeels, something a bit higher for me than screennumb trance, something I’m out of practice giving and receiving. That’s it. I’m gonna keep going.
www.livingeveryminuteofit.com
www.combatcovidstress.com
