Why taking care of yourself as a mother means learning to say no
By Emelia Symington Fedy
It was a ritual for me and my mom.
Every day after school I'd come home, we would make tea, and watch Oprah together.
And on one of those episodes, Oprah coined a new term: "Radical Self Care."
It sounded almost dangerous. What did it mean?
I know what Oprah was getting at — trying to empower women to take care of themselves, put themselves first. This concept was novel to my single mom and me. But what did "Radical Self Care" look like in action? What did Oprah mean?
A bubble bath? A holiday? A mani-pedi? Telling yourself you are getting one massage a month, no matter what? You deserve it girlfriend!
As the 90's turned to the 2000's, the Internet gave us access to much more talk about "Radical Self Care." The movement grew. It grew and grew into an entire industry of multi-million dollar online empires that focused on teaching women to rise up and say no and expect more help around the house and invest in their wildest dreams — through webinars, online programs, telesummits, mastermind groups! And the whole point was to put yourself first. To take care of you!
In the meantime, I grew up, became an adult. I had kids, I got married, the bills became important to pay, and that's when it dawned on me. The idea of "Radical Self Care" was missing something very important.
The first step.
The step that allows you to find the space and rest to even consider considering yourself.
"Radical Self Care" was only for people who had lots of choices already. Not for working moms. Or single moms. Not stay-at-home moms. Not low income folks.
How can I feel my angels replenishing me in the tub when I've got 2 kids peeing in it at the same time?
I've recently heard a new term and it feels so much more to the point. So much more practical, and useful.
"Radical Inconvenience."
Because the first step to being able to radically care for yourself is being willing to inconvenience others. Not a female strong suit.
I will have to inconvenience people in order to take care of myself.
"No sweetheart, I cannot help you with the crying children right now, because I'm having a melt-down too so I am going to go lie down for ten minutes first."
"No, I will not work for that little amount."
"No, I'm not coming to your baby shower, wedding shower, birthday party, hens night, anniversary party or 'work thing', because I don't give a give a flying…"
"No. I don't need a massage or a mani-pedi. It's more than that."
"I just want to be be by myself."
That can make things uncomfortable.
It's also considered "selfish."
It feels wrong to sit my kids in front of a show so I can take an hour to write. Or to say, "no, I'm not driving to the airport to pick you up, I know it's the nice thing to do, but there are transit and cabs and you are a grown adult."
"No, I don't have the energy to make a coffee date this week even though I love you dearly."
"No, your child cannot come to my house for a play-date. Why? Because the mess they make will take me a month to clean up. That's why."
It takes practice.
"No."
It's terrifying to even say, isn't it? And a lot of our moms didn't get to take that chance.
I will inconvenience people when I take care of myself. And I'm trying to learn to be OK with that.
So, two generations: my mom trying to frantically figure out what "Radical Self Care" even meant, and now me, still trying to learn how to carve out space for myself.
But I've been doing it, feeling the discomfort of saying no.
They know they can rely on you, because when you say yes, you really mean it. And then they get to take care of themselves and say no too and we all get to say, "Sorry, No! Not today. I'm booked." What a relief!
I think back to my mom and me watching Oprah every day after school, and it hits me. We were practicing, without knowing it. We were already doing "Radical Self Care." It didn't need a fancy name attached. It cost nothing. And no one needed to teach us how to do it. We were inconveniencing my brother, who wanted to watch The Facts of Life instead.
It was 4pm. It was our time. Strong black tea and cookies snuggled on the couch. Every afternoon. Together. That's all it took.
Click 'Listen' above to hear Emelia Symington Fedy's essay.