I’m fresh off a five-day personal retreat where I spent most of my time alone and in silence.
Except for just enough speaking to order meals, I remained largely quiet, with one exception. For the most part, my phone was tucked away in a strange and unfamiliar location: the bottom of my purse. I don’t think I checked the time more than once and that was to make certain I was back at my hotel room in time to meet the massage therapist. I rested (a lot), did a walking meditation along a stretch of the New Jersey shoreline, journaled, and made a dent in some of the inspiring books that had been piling up on my nightstand since the holidays. Some of my bandwidth was gradually being restored. Or so I thought.
In the mental space usually reserved for professional and personal concerns and commitments, I noticed the swirl of other brainwork that appeared in my now less crowded mind. I noted the welcomed thoughts and the thoughts I wish I hadn’t thought. I did my best to be present to all of them.
As the first full day morphed into the night and then into next morning, I could feel the top layer of stress I’d been carrying begin to give way to something else. It was subtle and undefinable at first but then it came into sharper focus, much the way a sheet of photographic paper slowly becomes an image in the darkroom when the chemicals and the light are just right. (Pre-digital photography. Look it up!) What did I notice in my mental darkroom?
I felt worse than when I arrived.
And by worse, I mean almost fluish. I knew I didn’t actually have the flu but you could have fooled my body and mind. In fairly short order, I wondered, no …, I knew that this was the detox portion of my solitude. The wave of stress I waited too long to deal with was dealing with me. Disappointed initially because I really wanted to make this time away count, I chose to give into it and allowed it to wash over me. As it did, I could identify where every part of it came from: offering too many yesses which resulted in overextending myself, taking on too many projects at once, forgetting to ask for support, and delaying exercise. That was my night of detoxification and withdrawal from the stress I had previously used to propel and motivate myself forward. It was clear to me, just like the emerging image in the darkroom, I had gone too far afield from inner balance and for too long.
Halfway through my retreat, things got better. I started to catch up to myself. I needed less caffeine to get going, my eyes were brighter and so was my mood. I ate well and leisurely. And I got better at savoring time, neither keeping track of it nor lamenting how little there is of it. I was both in my body and in the moment much more than I had been in months.
Then, as I settled into a more natural rhythm (the usual signals that usher in the next task or appointment or meal nowhere to be found), I began to reflect on the importance of what I was doing. This reflection followed me home and as it did, it dawned on me that although I was the one who was on retreat, it is the people in my life – both personal and professional – who are the beneficiaries of my reset. Here’s why:
I simply returned a nicer person.
This is not only according to me. I can provide letters of recommendation.
I owe this type of self-care not only to myself but to the person I live with and to all those whose paths I cross. And of course, it’s the other way around, too. The bottom line is this: we have a responsibility to one another to be good to ourselves.
Yes, caring for ourselves is essential. But I believe it is so much more than that – it’s a sacred obligation. When we take care of ourselves, when we keep ourselves as healthy, as balanced, and as equanimous as we can, we naturally become more patient, loving, and open individuals. We show up more fully in the world, in our relationships, our work, and our communities.
Is it selfish?
It is not; it is necessary. (Repeat for emphasis.) By meeting our own needs for reflection, clarity, and direction, we become more grounded and more present. Rather than move through life frazzled or on autopilot, we are more in charge of our moods and our responses. We’re better able to listen, to empathize, and to understand those around us.
When we prioritize our own well-being, we:
* Become more patient and compassionate with others
* Are more open to new experiences and perspectives
* Can respond to challenges more thoughtfully and intentionally
* Are more resilient in the face of stress and adversity
By loving and caring for ourselves, we create a positive impact on those in our orbit. Our relationships become more authentic and meaningful, our work more purposeful, and our communities more supportive.
So, I invite you to make yourself a priority in your own life. Take time for reflection, whether that’s a few minutes each day or a longer retreat like mine. Pay attention to your own needs and desires. Show yourself some tender-heartedness.
Remember, you owe it to both yourself and others to love yourself. By doing so, you’ll be giving the world what it greatly needs: your loving presence in it.
