TCB (AKA: Self-Care)

Haircut and pedicure day. I don’t know why I put them off for so long. I wait until I absolutely can’t stand it anymore. My hair gets out of control and I am ashamed to wear open toed shoes (which in LA is positively sinful this time of year). Unmanageability. Yep. That sounds right up my alley.

So why don’t I take better care of myself? Wow. I don’t have an answer. I could blame it on finances, but that is only a recent ailment that prevents me from doing things. I fear the issue has its roots in my childhood as I watched my mother do very little for herself. She was busy raising 8 children, doting over my father, and working a full-time job. I have none of those excuses. She wore the same clothing day after day, went infrequently to have her hair done, and I don’t think she ever had a professional manicure, much less a pedicure. (Oh, wait. I think she may have had her nails done for my sister’s wedding when the bridal party had ours done the morning of the wedding.) I remember watching her hands when I was young and thinking how beautiful they were. The few times she did polish her nails were really a treat. Always a light shade with sparkles. As she aged, it was sad to witness that her skin had lost its elasticity and sometimes when I look at my own aging hands, I remember my mother.

In any event, they say children learn what they live. While I’ve always been a fan of that sentiment, I believe in this case it’s a cop out. Where the problem really lies, I think, is the overall feeling of unworthiness that is planted deep inside of me. Penance for the wreckage of my alcoholic past. And while I’m beginning to shake that pall that I wear so comfortably, it requires a lot of hard work and deprogramming.

My stylist is a man, and “one of us”. For the first time ever, I went to his home for my cut. He knew I would be coming soon as he had been following my grow-out (as any stylist worth his mettle would do) via the pictures on Facebook. (Life as it is revealed on the World Wide Web…it’s mind boggling, isn’t it?) We sat for a while before the actual cut in his cozy living room chatting like old friends. This is incredible since this is only the 3rd or 4th time I’ve interacted with him, and the second time he’s cut my hair. But as only another alcoholic can understand, there is an instant kinship…an understanding which can only be explained through the language of the heart. This was a wonderful start to my day. God’s work is an amazing thing. I don’t know who benefitted more from our morning, but I have the feeling we each went on with our days just a little lighter in our steps. (And I was minus a whole lot of hair!)

I went with a floral design of color for my French pedicure. After all, it IS spring. I don’t have pretty feet by any stretch of the imagination, but I should treat them kinder than I do. They have the tremendous task of carrying my frame for the rest of my life. Making that statement just now made me realize that my connection to my Higher Power is very much like my feet. Not necessarily well tended to, but not a failure to me thus far. Both require more attention than I have been giving.

So, by taking care of business today, I am investing in myself. And that is definitely progress.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

It's a beautiful life.

I bought flowers for myself today to celebrate.

Spring is definitely here.  There's a certain feel of the air.  It wraps itself around me like a comfortable, old blanket.  I love spring.  The sleepy world wakes slowly to coax hope from its hiding place.

I remember a day about 2 or 3 weeks ago when I saw my first hummingbird of the season.  It was early morning on my balcony.  As I watched him flitter from flower to flower, my hearing became more in tune with my surroundings.  The birds were singing beautifully.  I couldn't see many of them, but they were there nonetheless.

The first sign of spring used to be the appearance of the crocuses or tulips and the first sighting of a robin; the joy that maybe the snow was done for the next 8 or 9 months.  That was when I was living in the midwest.  I don't think I fully appreciated the stark contrast of seasons there.  In southern California, with year-round blooms, the seasons are more subtle.  Having lived here now for a full 3 years as of March 12th, I am learning the nuances.  Or maybe I am just more observant.  And filled with gratitude.

Spring also brings with it memories.  Memories, I now choose to embrace, like the coming of spring.  Definitely a gift of sobriety and developing a relationship with a Power greater than myself.

My flowers are on my bedside table where I can enjoy their fragrance; where I can be sure they are the last thing I see before I go to sleep and the first thing I see when I wake up.  Life is beautiful.  Isn't it?

Thank you for paying me a 12 step call.