|
Welcome to this week's newsletter.
Lately, we've been thinking about the importance of looking after ourselves, particularly in times of profound change and uncertainty. Self-care is often misunderstood as indulgence - something squeezed into the margins once everything else has been tended to. But perhaps it is something much older, quieter and more essential than that: the practice of remembering that we, too, belong to the living world. Like gardens, we need tending. Like the seasons, we need periods of growth and rest. It is through caring for ourselves that we become able to show up more fully for others.
The benefits of small, restorative rituals can ripple through every part of our lives. In her beautiful and practical book Retreat, Sally Brockway writes that "switching off and stepping back from day-to-day life can ease anxiety, spark creativity, and aid sleep."
Rather than promising dramatic transformations, Retreat offers an invitation to slow down and return to yourself through simple, nourishing practices. Among our favourites from the book are listening to birdsong at dusk, creating a sensory garden, reading by candlelight, and practising a simple box breathing exercise.
Making space and time for regular moments of self-care helps us meet the demands of everyday life with greater resilience, optimism and presence.
We've gathered some of our favourite books to inspire those moments of pause and restoration on bookshop.org. Reading them is, perhaps, an act of self-care in itself.
We love the poem below for its gentle, uncomplicated reminder of the importance of self-care. It's from award-winning poet and mindfulness educator, James Crews' recent collection Breathing Room.
Self Care
Some days it feels like a foreign language
I’m asked to practice, with new words
for happiness, work, and love. I’m still learning
how to say: a cup of tea for no reason,
what to call the extra honey I drizzle in,
how to label the relentless urge to do more
and more as useless. And how to translate
the heart’s pounding message when it comes:
enough, enough. This morning, I search for words
to capture the glimmering sun as it lifts
above mountains, clouds already closing in
as fat droplets of rain darken the deck.
I’m learning to call this stillness self-care too,
just standing here, as goldfinches scatter up
from around the feeder like broken pieces
of bright yellow stained-glass, reassembling
in the sheltering arms of a maple.
James Crews
|
