Saturday was a “me” day. Yoga, a hair appointment, shopping, walking the dog in his favorite place to run, a little bit of “guided imagery” followed by a very nice orgasm. Or two.
“Do something nice every day,” my therapist had said.
That won’t be hard, I thought. Random Acts of Kindness, right?
Well, except for the part about writing it down. I would feel self-conscious about writing down what I had done, even if only for myself to read. (He wants me to keep a daily log of things, like diet and mood and exercise and sleep – and this.)
“For yourself,” he clarified.
Afterwards he said he wished he had had a camera, to record the uncomprehending look on my face. “For myself? Every day? What good will that do?”
He laughed. “Just do it. One nice thing, consciously, for yourself, every day.”
So yesterday I bought a corset. I lost a half dozen corsets in the aftermath of W’s passing, a couple which had been expensive, and one of which had been a gift from Adam. This one isn’t expensive, but it’s one I never would have bought while I was with W: pretty, pink, frilly. Not his taste at all. He would have loved it on me anyway, and laughed at me for being such a girlie-girl, but I knew his tastes well, and it wouldn’t have gotten much wear, so I wouldn’t have bought it.
It was nice to buy it just for me. Because I want to be pretty. And frilly. And girlie and delicate and sweet. At least on the outside. ;-)
And it’s okay to replace the things I lost, to want heels and lingerie and stockings and pretty things – for myself. Not to please someone else. Of course then I hope to have a reason to wear them! But I’ll be ready, when I do.
This past week was hard. I hate being medicated, and the amount of medication I was on, while absolutely necessary (of that I have no doubt) also kept me foggy and numb. As is my way (I know, stupid girl) I decided it was time to cut back. I took a precipitous (and possibly ill-advised) step down in the dosage. Let’s say it was more like a leap down.
Almost to the bottom of that deep, dark well of despair and sorrow, the one with slick, slippery walls, no handholds and seemingly no light at the top.
As has happened so often in this, however, I was blessed with the kindness, love and support of my friends, family and lovers, who reached down into the hole and offered me their hands. To hold, to lift me up, to help me scale the sides until I could lift myself up and over the edge.
Into the light again.
So, maybe I don’t take quite that big a leap. Maybe I ease my way down, carefully, my butt on the steps, feeling my way a little more slowly with outstretched toes, until I can stand firmly on my own.
That’s okay. I’ll get a pedicure and my toes will be pretty, I’ll buy a pair of stockings for a party, I’ll buy myself flowers. I’ll take a walk at lunch time, I’ll let myself take a nap in the middle of the day and take bubble baths again.
Because it’s okay to be nice to myself.