Self-Care

So “self-care” is a concept around here. Much has been written about it—my favorite article is one in the New Yorker entitled “The Politics of Conspicuous Displays of Self-Care.” Apparently this concept originated from Puritans and Christian thinkers who talked about the cultivation of self and “care for the soul,” which I found intriguing. In the 70’s and 80’s the term was resurrected in the context of defiant social activism, as marginalized groups insisted they mattered and were worthy of care. Interestingly, there was a resurgence of the concept in 2016 post-election as a kind of coping mechanism, then it boomed into something that was marketed. And now, this “collective social practice” is everywhere, including everything from skin care and diets to planners and tattooed aphorisms.

There is a particular brand of self-care in the Bay Area. It’s seated in the cultural ethos: one could see it as a counterpoint to mindfulness. If mindfulness is noticing what is happening around you to more fully experience it, self-care gives you permission to ignore exactly that in the focus on yourself and your feelings. Both are seen as important avenues to the cultural gods of empathy and inclusion: mindfulness because it encourages you to be aware of others, self-care because you can be more compassionate to others when you’ve been so to yourself. As one article put it, “when you endorse yourself as both vulnerable and worthy, especially when that endorsement feels hard, you can grant that same complex subjectivity to others, even to people whose needs and desires are different from your own.”

Self-care also exists here as a kind of response to pervasive anxiety. In a work-hard, play-hard culture, it is the antidote for a lack of natural balance or rest. In the stress that comes from seeking to optimize all options, it becomes another thing to optimize in escaping from that stress. In the struggle for identity and security in a constantly-changing culture rife with better talent, it becomes an avenue for affirmation. Self-care here can also smack a bit of wealthy privilege, as in, let me go “self-care” at Lake Tahoe, or with a custom-made tea, or by hiring a third nanny. 

I have some wariness of self-care as I see it here for some of those reasons, and perhaps ultimately because it evokes an underlying post-millennial cultural current of self-determinism that runs against the gospel. The gospel would say: we can’t determine ourselves; God as creator knows us. We can’t generate our own worthiness; God as savior has shown us. The acts of self-care aren’t where we find our own salvation, but they can be the outworkings of how we worship God. They can be how we live out stewardship of our bodies, spirits, and minds; they can be how we experience and thank God. They can be a liturgy of rest and renewal.

The reality is, I need to learn how to care for myself better. I was raised with what I now realize was an incredibly strong work ethic, plowed through medical training, and now as a mom inhabit a work sphere characterized by regular periods of intensity and no kind of natural break. I need to figure out what Sabbath looks like not just for my family, but for myself. I need to engage in soul-keeping. I need to not feel bad paying for childcare even if I’m not working. And sometimes, I need to paint my nails, get a good cup of tea, or shop for myself. Right now, that just feels like a basic reclamation of my humanness. And that is okay.