I have the scented soaps – in a mock martini glass – a gift from my sons.
A lovely loofah is propped in one corner, and a bottle of bubble bath sits on a ledge.
I have more than enough room to stretch my legs and luxuriate, yet I don’t. Instead, my morning ritual consists of coffee, writing, more coffee, more writing – and a shower.
This particular morning (along with coffee, and before the shower), my reading brought me to a devilishly addictive site I’ve recently discovered. It’s called High50 – and high fives all round to its superb writing and delectable topics, offered up from the other side of the Atlantic. And today, I was greeted by an article reminding me of a powerful reason to take to the tub.
Stress.
As the High50 article points out, we recognize the relaxing virtues of the bath, yet we don’t indulge. And perhaps that’s part of the dilemma; we view this non-activity as indulgence, rather than unpretentious upkeep or mindful maintenance.
I admit to this same tendency. Despite a tantalizing tub, I’ve never actually soaked in it.
Foreign Fantasy?
Of course, I’m dreadful at relaxing in any fashion. I blame it on my flinty New England upbringing, and find that a brisk walk (in my sassy sneaks) is the closest I come – on this continent.
Ironically, the only time I take a bath is when I travel to France where the tubs are typically tiny (then again, so am I), and somehow, I allow myself 20 minutes in the early morning or late at night, to unwind.
So why don’t we avail ourselves of this handy means to catch our breath?
Do we somehow envision tub-as-seduction-setting, à la Real Housewives Tamra and Eddie? Short an occasion (or time) for such sensual scenes of our own, do we turn to the quick shower rather than the languorous and longer lasting benefits of the baignoire?
Body Bashful or Bathing Beauty?
Is one of our justifications for shunning the soak, as the High50 article suggests, the efficiency to be had in the shower?
Might this be the moment to reclaim a simple means to detox – one that encourages us to reacquaint ourselves with our bodies as they are, our bodies nonetheless lightened, and a sensual pleasure that should hold no stigma?
- Are we reluctant to slow down unless we do so within the framework of an activity like yoga, meditation, or a three-mile run? (Can we all spell “oxymoron?”)
- Why do we steep ourselves in sinful sentiments when we consider stopping, reflecting, and basking (or bathing) in the doings of the day?
- Is it impossible for women (especially) to see ourselves as other than Mama (bathing kids) or Minx (waiting for Hubby) when it comes to kicking back in the Kohler?
- Is it as simple as habit? Couldn’t a measure of time be consecrated to this easy, at-home means to relax?
Let’s bring back the bath, shall we? Shared or solo, but certainly sans guilt.
Tamra in the tub, image courtesy BravoTV.com photo galleries.
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I have the most fantastic bathtub and have NEVER used it. Crazy. I am just not a bath person. I feel covered with soap film and then would need to rinse off in the shower (but actually my tub HAS a shower nozzle too so really no excuse). I don’t know. Baths are just not me.
And when you’re on vacation, Cathy? Then do you enjoy a soak?
I love taking long, geyser-hot baths. I get as much water in as I possibly can by using my submerged alligator approach. I sink as deep as I possibly can- up to my eyeballs- and soak. When I was going through a really rough time in the Fall of 2009, soaking in the tub enabled me to really work through major issues. I went from wanting to skewer a crazy and destructive coworker to actually figuring out a way to forgive her and get her out of my life and head. When I separated from my husband and moved into my new old house, the first thing I did was tear out the 1970’s inadequate tub and put in the largest tub my bathroom would allow.
At my church, we have a water communion every Labor day weekend. Everyone brings a small sample of water from their travels or wherever is special to them. Since I did a Separation instead of a Vacation, I brought water from my new tub. I announced to the congregation that this water was from my newly remodeled bathroom and I was looking forward to having deep, provocative and life changing thoughts in its perimeter.
I live in Texas and we are in one of the worst droughts on record. I have rigged a pond pump to some hoses so I can then drain my tub and water into the hedges in the front of the house. Hopefully the gray water won’t contain anything harmful (physically and metaphorically) and kill off my lawn.
Laura, this is inspired – and inspiring! I love the way you have turned your tub into a sort of sanctuary, and means to heal the spirit. Brilliant.
I think that you should break in your tub!!
My aunt has a fabulous tub and she says it is too big. By the time she gets it filled, she is no longer in a bathing mood.. and then she has to clean it.
I would love to soak in mine, but it is not near as comfortable to relax in as those in the photos, the one you describe or the one that Cathy and Laura describe above. It is simply one of the standard tub/shower combos. I also love the water really hot and it doesn’t last long.
One day I will have a tub like that… and I will use it.
I will say – when I’m in Paris, one of the things I do is walk for miles, and miles, and miles… and climbing into a tub of steamy water, even a little tub, is sublime. Add a little baby oil or some other wonderfully aromatic je ne sais quoi, and it really is heavenly.
Can’t figure out why I “permit” myself that without guilty when I’m abroad, and home? Where I’m working harder and far more stressed? Not. (Seems silly, doesn’t it?)
Note to self: Make time for a soak in the tub this week, and report back! 😉
I have a mental block when it comes to baths. It feels like I’m just sitting in my own filth. However, I love to kick back in pool (chlorine eats off the filth?) or lounge at the lake (my filth meets aqua filth?) … but thinking of taking a bath makes me itchy. I’d be like Cathy – taking a bath makes me need a shower. Also, the water cools down too fast. Apparently I am extra.
God, I love the bath. Alas, I can no longer take them. My minxes have bathtub radar. The minute I crawl in, someone vomits, or falls, or needs feeding. And none of these needs, remarkably, can be cured by my husband’s presence in the house. Suckage.
Suckage indeed, Kitch. 🙁
I love decompressing in a nice, warm bath. In the summer, I hang a cotton bag full of fresh lemon balm and lavender from the garden in the water for an extra dose of TLC!
Even though I have a nice tub, I am too restless to bathe in it. Showers speak to the efficiency in me. But perhaps one day I may take to the tub?
@Lisa – Fresh lemon balm. That sounds amazingly relaxing.
@Rudri – I know what you mean about the restlessness. (Do you only feel it at home when you ponder a soak? Are you more able to enjoy it, when you’re away?)
I do enjoy a good bath.
I go through stages – last winter I had a daily bath. This winter I prefer the instant rush of a shower. Mind you it’s easier to meditate whilst luxuriating in a bath rather than a under a shower;-)
Lovely to have you visit, Englishvers. And now you’ve truly put me in the mood for a good long soak!
After a long run – 2 hours or so – or a hard race, a hot bath is absolute heaven, my reward. I did the cold bath thing a couple of times (supposed to be good for healing muscles) but it wasn’t just uncomfortable it was hell! Hot baths for me, skin be damned. But – and I am loathe to admit it – any other time, a bath is boring to me. To use that much water – and what’s the point if it’s not a FULL bath – I feel I need to soak until it cools. I’m not crazy about wet books and magazines, though I have done the book and a glass of wine and that was OK. I can stand in a shower for 20 minutes and probably use as much or more water, so I’m not sure what my thing is about baths. If the bathroom is cold, it’s uncomfortable, but if it’s warm I’m hot. Maybe I need more of those products to encourage me to stay in longer. And some sort of book holder… It’s not like I can’t sit and think my own thoughts for ages. I can, easily, only if I’m not reading then I want to be writing. Daft, isn’t it?