Anyone who knows me well knows that I strongly advocate spoiling yourself, however and whenever possible. I’m of a Dale Cooper frame of mind about that, and believe that it can take many forms. It could be something as simple as dedicating 20 minutes to doing a really good job on painting your nails, a new book at the library, a drink with a dear friend, or a really good pot of your favorite tea. It could also be perfume, or yarn, or beads, or a pretty frock, or a new waistcoat, or beard oil, or a new pair of Fluevogs (unf!), or something even more extravagant if you have the means.
I recently swore off Lush Cosmetics for a wide variety of reasons, not the least of which is their choice to profit off of a book franchise that glorifies abusive relationships, the insistence that Rose Goes in All the Things Forever, and their escalating desire to put less product in their product. Disappointing, Lush. So I’ve been hunting around for places to get my bubble bath and skin care needs met. In my travels, I’ve met up with Fig+Yarrow, Herbivore Botanicals, and Whipped-up Wonderful (and continue to be a deranged and frothing Black Phoenix devotee, because I am a perfume dragon). I’ve been super, super happy with all of my new treat providers (and frankly, Fig+Yarrow did some pretty amazing sh*t to my face, not gonna lie). I also think I’m going to try (as I mentioned earlier today) to start making some of the things I use regularly because why not.
I paused today, thinking: Why is this so important to me, I mean seriously, Rabbit? Bubble baths? And then I smacked myself because You Don’t Mess With What Ain’t Broke, B*tchezz. I think honestly, it’s really important to find ways to inject joyful, pleasing experiences into daily life. The aesthetic can get us through a tough day at work, radically alter a spiraling mood, and provide motivation to get through days that are less than perfect, reminding us always: You deserve nice things, pleasure is important, and brain chemistry is (generally) not that hard to manipulate favorably.
Anhedonia is scary as f*ck, y’all, and I think teaching our brains to love, relish, and expect glorious, lovely experiences even on crap days is one way of stemming the tide of despair when things are sh*tty, and a way of throwing some reserve in our emotional savings accounts when things are terrific. I mutter a lot to myself about self-care, because I used to be shite at it. Some deeply crazy part of me would just be like, “IF I JUST TAKE CARE OF EVERYONE ELSE THEN THEY WILL TAKE CARE OF ME WHEN I NEED IT EVEN THOUGH I NEVER NEVER TELL THEM WHEN I NEED IT BECAUSE WHAT IF THEY SAY NO HOLY F*CK.”
That’s maladaptive. Don’t do that.
The fact of the matter is that the way my life is now, yes: people take excellent (truly excellent) care of me, and mindfully so. They also don’t act as though providing me support, care, or love in ways that are meaningful to me is some giant big deal favor whereupon I owe them something because AUGH INTROVERTS/HIGHLY SENSITIVE TYPES amirite guys so frustrating?! Protip: Whut in the actual, mumm-ra the ever-living f*ck is that. However, ultimately, taking care of me is my job. That means spending time on wonderful books, time with rad folk, knitting a thing, taking purple baths with glitter in them that smell like magical fairy princesses, and occasionally dropping bank on sweet new kicks that make you feel like Queen B*tch of the Motherf*cking Universe.
I clearly need a tee-shirt and a late night infomercial for this message.