CARED FOR IN SO MANY WAYS…

Following from the consideration of what self-care means, Randy asked us to “describe a time when you felt cared for by another and how you knew you were cared for.”

At first, this was easy to ponder. I began to make a list. The list got longer and the thinking/memories got deeper. Then I didn’t post because I had this sense of not wanting to highlight one instance while excluding the others. And my mind got caught up in the instances and how I might write about one or the other. The care someone shows for you can be quite a personal story and sharing it can feel risky. A couple weeks on now… and I’m finally posting and choosing to highlight a few instances but beginning with some easier ones!

MUSIC…

My last post was a nod to the amazing Leonard Cohen. His words and music “connected” with so many around the world. I think most of us can easily think of  times when the right song was playing at the right time for the right mood. At times that meant my spirits were lifted, or I was up dancing, or I was transported back to another place and time, or it meant I wanted to feel sadder and cry harder. Regardless of the “place” the music takes us, at that moment, I think it’s not a stretch to say that we experience a sense of being cared for. Therein exists Resonance, Relevance and a Release. A favourite author or book can do the same, when the author’s words connect you to a character or circumstance from your own life.   

MY BODY…

From time to time I catch myself saying things like – “Thank you knees; I don’t know how you aren’t in pain after these years of use and abuse… but thank you.” Or after a long hike, thanking my pumping heart and legs for enduring the challenge so well. Don’t get me wrong, I have my fair share of aches – chronic pain from a herniated disc at S5/L1 going on 11 years isn’t always fun. If I consider body and mind as “others”, disembodied from “me/I” – I view my body as a very good friend (much more so than my mind, which can be quite a foe – perhaps a later post?). The way our cells, organs and systems have this amazing capacity for synergy, resilience and repair is astounding to me. So, on the whole, I feel cared for by my body, as strange as that may sound. Having said this, as we’ve discussed in class, I know that our mind and body are not discrete, disconnected entities of our being and that there is danger in speaking of and treating our bodies and mind as disembodied.   

ELLA & LARRY…

Growing up at 44648 McCaffrey Blvd in Chilliwack, I had the fortune of Ella and Larry Read living on one side of us, with Glen (their son) and Carolyn Read on the other side. Ella and Larry were like an extra set of grandparents to me. For many years on the days when Mom and Dad were both still at work, I spent 2-3 hours after school next door at Ella and Larry’s. Just like at home, I was cared for in so many ways in all the moments I was with Ella or Larry or both of them. I’d share my report card with Larry, who was also the local Boy Scouts Commissioner, and he’d slip me a nice sum of money for the good marks! And, then, if it was December he’d pass me the flashlight and a bit more cash and send me into their crawlspace under the house to go turn off the outdoor taps for the Winter. Ella made tea or hot cocoa for us, stoked the fire in the backroom when it was cold, gave me daily lessons in counting money or darning a sock or baking (her cinnamon buns were the best I’ve ever had to this day), or multiplication or reading. Ella was all but 4 foot 6, but as tough as nails, smart as a whip, didn’t put up with any gruff and was incredibly resourceful in every sense of the word. I’d catch hell if she ever saw me riding my bike on the wrong side of the road. She was no nonsense and uber practical… “stop your sniffling and get a tissue”, she’d say. I was welcome to go out in their yard in the summer whenever I wanted and pick apples, plums or blackberries. I had a very special relationship with Ella and Larry. Like my parents, they were wonderful models for me as a young person and I respected and “cared for” them as much as they cared for me.

WARMTH OF THE SUN, BEING IN OR AROUND WATER, THE FOREST…

Simple. C’mon. Sheer warmth of the sunshine wrapping its’ rays around you. Same goes for campfires. Cared for.  Being in water = relaxation, lightness, support, fun. Cared for. (That reminds me… an area of self-care I’m NOT good at – hydrating adequately). As for the forest… see the post “May the Forest Be With You!”

COUCHSURFING GUESTS…

This one’s easy. Granted, I first care to open up my home to a stranger. But you can’t help but feel cared for and appreciated in return when these “strangers” cook you a meal from their culture, re-stock the household with peanut butter or honey or toiler paper, pull homemade bread out of the oven in the morning, leave a personal note of thanks on the fridge or surprise you with incredibly kind words in their reference on your couchsurfing.org profile. I know I’m cared for as these new friends continue to stay in touch – asking about my life, my work, my course, my tennis and when I'm coming (or coming again) to stay with them! Truly fantastic experiences and people – create a couchsurfing profile and get started hosting the world, surfing the world or both!

MOMS AND DADS…

Plural and personal; where to start? I will attempt to be concise, since this one could be a book or two, which makes me very fortunate and very grateful.

Mom and Dad

Chuck and Evelyn adopted me when I was an infant. I was the “chosen one”, so the story goes. Mom had given birth to my three siblings prior to me and then, for years, urged my Dad to “let’s adopt another one… just one.” It’s not like they went shopping from hospital to hospital maternity ward and put a sold sign on me, but their version of the story that they readily shared with everyone as I grew up was that I was indeed chosen. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it… as the saying goes! If that alone doesn’t show care, here’s a couple other “instances” of care I recall…

Mom - When I was sick, slathering my neck and nostrils – right up in there - with vapo-rub morning and night. Along with a favourite dinner or a special dessert! And, after years of me pestering them, Mom was the first to quit smoking. For herself... but also for me.

Dad - Putting me to sleep each night with ever the lightest touch on my shoulders and arms. I fought sleep so it wouldn’t end. I don’t remember when this started or why. Ended when I was about 11 or 12. Not my sisters or brother. Just me. My Dad would have been lucky to have even gotten a hug from his Dad growing up. How lucky I was.

Mom & Dad - The night I came-out to my parents. 19? The three of us took Samson (our dog) for a walk. Never did this together. Dressed in my running clothes/shoes so I could run off. After walking and walking, knowing I wanted to share something, Mom says “come on – what did you want to say”. I stutter and hesitate to get the words out… and then immediately turn to run away. Dad grabs my arm. “Let’s go home.” We talk. They listen. Mom says she was worried, is worried, will worry… “it will be hard”, she thinks. Dad listens and simply says… “It doesn’t matter, we love you all the same.” At that point in time, I had only told a couple friends that I was gay. Then, more than any other need, I needed to know that Mom and Dad, my parents, still chose me. 

In retrospect, given the degree of unconditional love and incredible care they had shown for me up to that point in my life, I’m not sure how I could have doubted that they’d still love and accept me. I guess that was (is) the power of societal messaging:  i.e., what and who you are is so wrong that even the days of your parents’ unconditional love are numbered.

Birth Mom & Dad

It must take incredible strength and special care for a mother (or couple) to carry and then relinquish her (their) child, forever. This is the way of thinking held by my parents and expressed to me over and over. I came to believe, then and now, that my birth parents demonstrated the kind of utmost care that allowed me to be adopted by a family that was ready and able to care for me, in every sense. Armed with that belief and sense of care and security, I began searching for my biological family in 1993, just as I was finishing my first degree at Simon Fraser University.

How do you KNOW, then, when you are being cared for / in receipt of care: when the actions and words directed towards you align, when you feel that you matter and that you are safe, when you are infused with a sense of comfort/warmth, when time is spent, and when there is a strong sense of connection (with others, with the other - e.g., nature, and with self).