Small Balms

These past weeks I have struggled with my brain in a way that I associate most with my high school years. I don’t really know if that says more about life one year into the pandemic or about my experience in high school, but I have been paying attention to the things that usually help me to climb out of a deep hole and I thought I’d share a couple of them here in case anyone else is floundering and looking for a foothold.

Hand washing laundry. We have a shared washer and dryer in our building that cost a handful of quarters each and… work? Sort of? To stretch our coins I often hand wash things in a plastic tub in our bath. The act of repeatedly plunging my hands into warm, almond scented water for a purpose both lulls my mind into quiet and gives me a sense of accomplishment. I always feel a little better by the time I dump out the rinse water and my clean clothes are dripping dry around me. I wash in this tub (which had a past life hauling compost). I buy my Dr. Bronners in bulk here and use a white vinegar rinse.

Mending. Okay, I am a reluctant mender. But I know in my heart that caring for the things that we keep around us is another way of caring for myself. We put gauzy cotton blankets to a number of uses in our house, so I always grab them at the thrift when I find them, even if they’re in rough shape. This one had a lot of holes along one hem when I got it (being a white person with an Indian bedspread nailed to the wall isn’t really my thing, but I grew up in a college town with an import shop so I have a pretty clear idea of how said holes came to be). With my machine out of commission I decided to cut away the torn fabric and hem that edge again by hand. I patched another torn section with a cotton scrap in a similar weight. The combination of low-stakes decision making and repetitive hand work resulting in something usable is like a little happiness injection to my brain.

Slowing it down. Life hasn’t been especially rich in obligations, deadlines or commitments this year. Maybe that is why this period of depression snuck up on me so quietly- I usually have fair warning based on the amount of stress I feel about having to do anything. Still, the first thing I do when I feel the tide shifting is assess my obligations and adjust them as needed. I try to make the most possible room for rest in my days. Right now that means taking handmade objects out of my barter list. It means saying “no” or “yes, but later” to collaborations and requests. It’s meant being a bit of a terrible communicator with folks outside of those I talk with daily (sorry, sorry!). When I do work I pay attention to what my body tells me- if my jaw tenses or my shoulders begin to hunch I walk away and do something else (or nothing at all) until the tension eases.

Music. I tend to groove to the same tunes over and over again in cycles and these two songs are deep favorites. The first seems to come on the radio anytime I need it (and, okay, I sing it to myself a lot) and the second is by my friend Matt, who I miss very much (I also sing this one to myself a lot).

The Five Stairsteps - O-o-h Child

Punched in the Face by Your Own Brain - Matt Nisbett

Reading. I’m always trying to learn something from a book, so I like to pair my current outlook with the opposite in literature. When despair tugs me down I reach for books with a theme of hope. Right now I’m re-reading Mutant Message Down Under by Marlo Morgan. When fiction and non-fiction fall short there are always plant identification books.

I hope this is helpful- if not my actions themselves then the encouragement to examine what balms you know to apply when the going gets rough for you. Hang in there everyone!