Okay, I was raised by a Class One Martyr. Class One Martyrs don't know how to teach their children how to care for themselves. They care for themselves in secret, so as not to mar the martyr-like illusions. Or they guilt others into caring for them. Or they take steps to care for themselves when "pressured" by well-meaning people.
So I never cultivated the whole regular-trip-to-the-salon-for-a-manicure thing. And I didn't develop my save-yourself-so-you-can-save-your-kids thing either. Not until I had a good bit of therapy. While all the other mommies were off on spa/shopping/lunch dates with friends, I was...not taking care of my kids...because at the time I had maids for that. I was in my room having a big cry over how lamentable my situation was, what with the unfaithful spouse, and being stuck in the expatriate fishbowl of life, and nothing meaningful to focus on other than bridge and quilting (hate them both!!!!!), and not trusting that I had the resources to leave with my kids and survive on my own.
Eventually the aroma of my misery stew started to really stink up my life, enough so that I understood that no one was going to care for me or anticipate my needs like I could (and this lesson was really a loooooong time coming - because I can be soooooooooo dense!). Plus, my one really dear friend, who was going through a divorce whilst holding together her professional life and raising her autistic son on her own, was looking so damn good! Why wasn't she falling apart?! Well, she was, but she was taking care of herself. Ohhhhhhhhh! Maybe those spa days she was always proposing were really worth the money...
When I was living in Indonesia, I started to indulge myself with a cream bath. It's an Indonesian thing, a deep-moisturizing hair treatment and scalp, neck and shoulder massage. Oh, I miss those so much! Everyone should get one! If the Palestinians and Israelis got these on a regular basis, they'd have worked things out a long time ago! Instead of neutral zones, there should be cream bath zones! Really, they're that good. Having the monthly cream bath convinced me to have the weekly massages. Granted, massages can be expensive, but while I lived in Indonesia, Ibu Upik would only charge me $5 for an hour massage. And it wasn't a fake little massage, it was a good therapeutic one.
When I eventually came back to California, permanently, at the start of the divorce process, I remembered how great the regular massages were. I started going to the spa up the street on a weekly basis for a massage. A damn site more than the $5, but I was worth it. Because I understood that when I cared for myself properly, I could make wiser decisions about how to run my life, my household and raise my sons with more love and compassion than my mother could ever muster for me. My health started to improve, caring for myself spilled into eating better, exercising regularly, getting adequate sleep. And I committed to going back to therapy, participated in an EBT group (I highly recommend this as well for effective self-care) and re-focused on my education. I shed the martyr mantle that Mom was trying to hand me and actively moved on with my life.
I don't get weekly massages any longer. I've stretched them out to monthly, but I've added the mani/pedi and the facial on other weeks. And when I get my hair cut/colored, my stylist gives me a lovely little scalp, neck and shoulder massage. Not quite up to par with the Indonesian version, but wonderful nonetheless. I'm due for a massage this week. Going to see either Joanne or Stephanie at Perfect Balance Day Spa a few blocks from me. Joanne does this really awesome Thai stretch massage, and Stephanie gives a marvelous deep-tissue Swedish massage. I've been working extra hard at Pilates and weight training this week, so by Saturday, a massage is going to feel really good!
And while I'm getting my massage, the Class One Martyr is going to call and leave me a message, wondering where I am, and would I please call her back because she's lonely and has nobody to talk to but me (because she didn't talk to the team of people that cater to her and Dad everyday). And when I call her back, she's going to ask me where I was, and I'll tell her how much I was enjoying my massage, and then she'll say she wishes she could leave Dad for an hour and get a massage, and I'll offer to make arrangements so that someone can stay with Dad and I can take her for a massage at the spa, and she'll say it's too expensive and that I should know that she can't leave Dad for even one minute, not even to take a shower, and I ask what her team does all day that she can't go take a shower...
Damn! I gotta go! Pilates starts in 15 minutes!
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