Self-Care is the Antidote to Self-Loathing
When a survivor learns how to thrive
The trip I describe here finished on the cusp of the pandemic exploding in the US. I wrote it as I began to shelter-in-place which presently adds up to six weeks — and counting. I’m holding out hope that there will be a time when I can return to experiences like these.
For the month of February 2020, I took myself out of mid-winter New England to warmer places with beaches and loved ones. It was one large act of self-care. After surviving childhood incest, it took years of hard work to recognize the importance of self-care and to figure out what that would look like.
Living under the anvil of my father’s abuse and the icy wall of my mother’s neglect taught me that ME — little Donna Jean me — didn’t deserve care and attention. I didn’t even know what it was, except those occasional times on my grandparent’s farm where their loving eyes were easy on my spirit.
Taking care of myself came oh so slowly. Inch by inch I unraveled the steel wool that encased my mind. As if all the abuse that happened to me was like a great big hairy spider that ejected a shiny thread of steel from a spout in its back. He just kept marching around and around my mind spewing that string of steel until it made a dozen impenetrable layers — closing my thinking, preventing me from figuring out what I needed. Preventing me from finding out what would make me feel good, loved and nurtured.
But guess what — I found a giant tool. It looks like those huge bush trimmers gardeners use — a sort of scissor-like gizmo, clip, clip, clipping. I built my trimmer with counselors and therapists, through activism and workshops. I treasure every step in the direction of healing I took to cut through another layer of that steel web — all woven to make me hate, punish and shame myself.
Another layer was destroyed as each new dawning presented itself to me, convincing me I WAS lovable after all. My mind got freed up to see where to take myself, what to give myself, how to treat myself with care. My brilliant survivor sister, Rythea Lee, has an incredible free YouTube course on this very subject called Advice from a Loving Bitch– 20 five-minute episodes all done with great wisdom and humor.
Here’s a breakdown of the care I gave myself in my month away:
Week One:
Melbourne Beach, FLA with my daughter, Jen. She found us a place a block from the ocean. For her first 18 years, I was with Jen just about 24/7. But those days are long gone. Now we have to be very intentional to live in each other’s orbit. And what a glorious orbit we had: beach sitting, writing together, cooking meals, finding a funky restaurant while getting lost looking for another one. I did yoga while she walked the beach. We saw “Little Women” sharing the electricity of the character Jo March trying to write and get published — something we’re both striving for these days. How grateful I am to have a daughter I love going on retreat with. She restores my soul and reminds me of one of the best things I’ve added to this world — HER.
Week Two:
Next, my self-care extravaganza landed me in Puerto Rico meeting up with my two high school buddies, Karen and Ella, arriving from Milwaukee. It’s quite amazing to have friends for more than half a century and find ourselves acting like the teenagers we were when we first clicked. Our week in Loiza had a pool, a beach and my Alexa soundtrack of Rhythm & Blues and Motown oldies to sing along and dance. We had a wild ride in a utility vehicle through the rainforest wearing helmets we wouldn’t have been caught dead in back in 1960. We took a ferry ride to the island of Vieques. There were no jeeps or golf carts to rent. But we’d learned about hitching rides back in the day, so you know we got to the sweet little harbor town of Esperanza and back to our ferry to the mainland with, heck, five minutes to spare.
Week Three:
I dropped Ella and Karen off at the airport for their flight home with an hour to wait for the next arrivals. I found a quiet corner in the parking garage and took a nap. Really, I did! I thought I’d use the time to get some supplies at a supermarket but, hey, when you’re on the self-care express, naps get priority.
And my second week on that magnificent island I was joined by my two friends from NYC and DC, Judy and Reena, who arrived, and we headed west for Vega Baja.
Both condos I lived in while in Puerto Rico had balconies with wide-open views of the Atlantic. They had to have those balconies. I had to have a daily perch watching the waves roll in; hearing the waves lull me to sleep, feeling the sea-salted air swirl around me. Those balconies had me at hello. It was all early morning coffee and journaling; mid-morning yoga; every evening a glass of wine and a plate of cheese, crackers, grapes... Sometimes alone, sometimes with Reena and Judy telling our stories to each other; laughing and sympathizing and wondering at the lives we are leading. We’re all each other’s posse — riding in formation through our bouts of breast cancer; holding each other up while we mourn a passing or celebrate a beginning.
Almost every day we’d pack some towels and treats and drive to a new beach– Puerto Rico is bursting with beautiful beaches. And being buddies for over three decades we know just how to let each other talk out loud about where she wants to go next with this life of hers. And every talking brings the wisest of advice, which is quite easy to give and get when you’re so well seen.
Week Four:
I left Puerto Rico vowing to return to this beautiful place filled with friendly, open people. Back in Florida, to spend the week in Fort Lauderdale at Jen’s with her life partner Sev and my grandson Cole.
They showed me so much love and sweet attention. Cole and I went out to lunch at his favorite Italian restaurant. Out back was a Vespa. Cole said, “Hop on, Gramma, you’ll look cool on that.” I got to go to the last night of his job as a dishwasher before he heads out to college. He picked me up and dropped me off at the airport and every day we told each other, “Love you.” It don’t get better than that!
Cole said, “Hop on, Gramma, you’ll look cool on that.”
For my birthday, #73, Jen took me for a spa day at the beach and later they all took me out for a wine tasting and tapas. We made a happy crew.
Jen gathered a group of women into her living room and I led them in a writing workshop. There was good, strong energy in that garden of forty-somethings. And I attended the public speaking workshop, under Jen’s excellent leadership. Two intense, fruitful days for a group of Ted Talk/Keynote Speaker “wannabes.”
All four weeks I was away, each day, I’d have two sweet phone calls with my beloved; the holder of my kite string who was keeping the home fires burning. Every morning we traded the question, “How’d you sleep?” and every evening, “How was your day?” Such simple but profound asks. I get filled with a double dose of gratitude that not only does he love me, but I healed enough to let that love into my life.
Every morning we traded the question, “How’d you sleep?” and every evening, “How was your day?” Such simple but profound asks.
Great experiences one and all for a survivor who’s come to believe that self-care is the antidote to self-loathing. When I make choices to do things that make me happy, be with people who love and see me, I’m purging all those razor-sharp messages from my father’s abuse and my mother’s neglect telling me I am worthless. I’m deeply dedicated to showing and reminding myself that I AM worthy. I say, ‘YAY me,’ for all the ways I’m caring for me.
How about you?
Since my return the corona virus pandemic has been blasting through our world. I’m doing all I can to continue taking care of my self, as I stay sheltered at home. Hope all who are reading this are doing the same.
Donna Jenson founded Time To Tell and leads online and in-person writing circles for survivors of sexual violence. She wrote and performs the one-woman play, “What She Knows: One Woman’s Way Through Incest to Joy,” which is based on her own experience of surviving incest and what she did to make her life worth living. Her book, Healing My Life from Incest to Joy, is a narrative of the choices she made and experiences she had that helped her heal from her childhood trauma.
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