Taking exquisitely tender care

Last night I took myself to the sauna for the fourth time in two weeks.

Che arrived home from work at 6:30pm. We kissed hello and goodbye in the kitchen to the sound of our kids running wild through the house, our little dog jumping at our feet (she never wants to be left out of a moment of affection!)

Then I slipped downstairs to the garage, where I was pummeled by Cai, who jumped into my arms and wrapped her gangly eight-year-old body around mine. “Just one quick snuggle before you go, Mama,” she whispered as she nestled her face into my neck.Satisfied by the snuggles, off I went into the darkness.

I drove across the bridge, over the river, and to a little sanctuary in southeast Portland. I arrived as two people were leaving and spent the next two hours alone, luxuriating in the warmth and the smell of wood and herbs and essential oils. The gentleness of being alone. Phone off. Soft sounds. Lights dimmed, candles mostly.

I felt such an incredibly deep sense of gratitude.

Having spent so many years now practicing and cultivating and expanding my ability to care for myself. To take time to rest. To lean into, rather than fight against, the moments of pause that life offers up, with or without our apparent choosing. To hold fear in one hand while also reminding myself that I am safe, here and now.

This year has begun with the kind of spaciousness that would have made past versions of myself frantic in the clutches of fear. “What if” stories spinning into nightmares, chasing me into fruitless productivity circles, leading to burnout long before any actual work opportunities presented themselves. Will AI take over all the creative jobs (and jobs in general)? Are all the opportunities gone? Will I ever work again? How will I survive?!

And of course, the fears have some validity. And their narratives are reinforced anytime we dare to look into the web of information and opinions tossed about on the internet stage. And they do not simply disappear when we try to “think positive” or “trust in the universe.” In fact, when ignored, the fear gremlins tend to multiply and creep out from the crevices and dark corners within, usually in the middle of the night when the subconscious roams free, determined to make themselves known.

But as I sat in the sauna, warmed from the surface of my skin all the way deep into my bones, on a night when I could easily have chosen to stay home in an anxiety spiral, trying to control an uncontrollable and unknowable future, I had this profound moment of recognition that despite everything:

I am taking exquisitely tender care of myself.

Not so many years ago, when my coach first offered me the belief that “I am worthy of exquisitely tender care,” I could barely say the words out loud, so many parts of me did not believe them to be true. And now here I was, after several weeks with hardly any income-producing work (a fact that would normally have me tighten my grip on everything) fully believing in my core that I am indeed worthy of exquisitely tender care.

After the sauna, I walked out into the dark night and tipped my head back to look up at the sky full of stars (amazing to be able to see so many even with all the light pollution from the city!), and I smiled big and wide and felt genuinely happy and content.

Then I got in my car and called my reps and left earnest voicemails before driving back across the bridge and over the river to my home and my little family.

I slipped straight into bed, took a deep breath, and exhaled all the worries of all of the past versions and parts of myself that have been trying so hard for so long, believing it wasn’t safe to slow down and care for myself, finally knowing that there is a different way to be.