Cranky self-care

The stupid things we do for our stupid mental health

Going for a stupid walk for my stupid mental health

A few weeks ago, I came across a TikTok trend that, I’m kind of ashamed to admit, has wormed its way into my brain.

Now, before I hand over my ‘geriatric millenial’ membership card, please know that I actually saw it on Instagram and I’m sure it’s been doing the rounds for quite some time, but if I’m not a day late and a dollar short on every trend, I don’t know who I am.

That aside, the whole thing is just a person taking themselves off for a cranky self-care walk.

(I would embed it here to show you but I don’t know how and I’m not spending, ahem, another 20 minutes trying to figure it out.)

As silly as it is, I haven’t stopped thinking about it. Probably because it’s ridiculously relatable. I mean, who hasn’t found themselves grumpy because they’re doing something they don’t want to do? Doubly grumpy because it is the very thing that will help them feel better? (So annoying when that happens.)

If you remove the music overlay and the cute/quirky TikTok vibe, this mix of grumpy and determined is how I move through most of my mornings these days.

I’m usually a bit grumpy that I have a whole list of (annoyingly effective) things to do that will help me build or maintain my well-being, and a bit determined to do them even if I really don’t want to. Because hard-fought experience has shown me over and over and over (and over) that doing these things is often way more impactful than any imagined momentary reprieve of not doing them*.

So, my stupid alarm goes off and I get up. I turn on the coffee pot and drink two big stupid glasses of water even though all I want is coffee, because I annoyingly know that it’s better for me to hydrate first.

Once the coffee is ready, I pour it into my therma-mug (because apparently I enjoy teasing myself) and even though all I want to do is sit at my computer, drink my coffee and work on my novel, I instead roll out my stupid yoga mat.

‘Two minutes,’ I tell myself. And I stand in stupid mountain pose and feel my stupid feet spreading into the floor. I fill my stupid lungs with stupid breath and stretch up to the ceiling. I do a series of stupid neck and shoulder rolls and then I fold forward and let gravity pull my head towards the floor. Almost invariably, I keep going past two minutes because the stupid release of tension and the stupid feeling of movement always feels good. But stupidly, I always forget that part. I only remember once I’m done.

By then, I really want my coffee, which is wafting its caffeinated promise under my nose, but instead, I sit on the lounge, cover myself in a stupid, cosy blanket that feels like a cocoon of niceness and set my stupid meditation timer. I begrudgingly go through the process of slowing my breath, of drawing my attention to it over and over, of expanding and settling into the moment. Then, when the bell rings at the end of my timer and I wriggle my stupid fingers and toes and smile at the stupid morning sky, I recognise anew how annoying it is that meditation helps me so much.

‘Finally,’ I then think. ‘Finally, it’s coffee time.’

‘Not so fast,’ says my stupid morning ritual. Because now, we do our writing practice and, because stupid Past Brooke decided that a daily act of pointless, enjoyable creativity was good for her brain and heart and soul, we might also write a stupid poem.

At this point I usually revolt slightly (it’s a game we play every day - we both know it’s coming) and I drink my coffee while writing. Ha! Suck on that, stupid morning ritual.

But I then I find myself turning towards the two empty, waiting pages anyway. My stupid writing practice has evolved this year and I usually do one page of directed stream of consciousness writing – a mix of Julia Cameron and Natalie Goldberg’s approaches – and the stupid process always, annoyingly, brings me clarity. Its steadfast reliability is, quite frankly, maddening.

Finally, most mornings, I turn to the second stupid fresh page and force out a poem. A bad one usually. Although sometimes I look back and realise one was kind of okay. But that’s not the point. The point is that stupid acts of stupid creativity are stupidly effective in helping me maintain my emotional well-being.

Just like yoga. Drinking water. Meditation. Journalling.

Ugh.

Past Brooke created these stupid rituals because she knew they were important and helpful. Present Brooke can roll her eyes as much as she wants, call them stupid, begrudge the boring sameness of doing them everyday – whatever. It’s okay.

Maybe it’s self-sabotage. Maybe it’s my inner-critic telling me I don’t deserve the gifts these rituals offer. Or maybe it’s my inner-rebel wanting to break free of structure and predictability. I don’t really know why I push back on these small, powerful acts of care. What I do know is it’s a rare day that finds me unhappier after doing them.

So, I let myself grumble and moan about the stupid things I do for my stupid well-being, because maybe that’s part of the ritual too some days?

Or, maybe I’m just contrary. Either way, I think cranky self-care could become a thing.

Tell me: do you have any self-care rituals that are annoyingly effective?

*There are days, however, where the extra 20 minutes of sleep is needed, or where the best thing for my well-being might be to sit in bed and drink my coffee instead. That’s okay too. In fact, that’s what I did this weekend. And I’m not remotely cranky about it.

Also! I’m taking a short break over the Easter holidays (part of slow living for me is to work to school terms as much as possible) so I’ll be back in your inbox in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, take good care.

Brooke xx