Come on, Girl… Get It Together!

A stack of bills on the kitchen table. Another piled by the front door. Two heaps of laundry not taken to the laundromat in, well, I don’t know how long. And then there is my face. Oh, my face… The truest sign of this strange indoor, isolated lifestyle. The pallor, the weariness, the placid expression. And the absence of a once routine “routine” that required little more than 90 seconds — a touch of eyeliner, a few dabs of foundation, a wisp of colorless gloss.

And forcing a smile — smiling is good for you — to encourage every mechanism possible to ratchet up the energy to start the day.

It’s not that I never engage in these small acts any longer; it’s that I no longer engage in them by rote. In the era of Covid-19, they are no longer as automatic as that first cup of coffee, writing in my journal, or brushing my teeth. And when it comes to activities to do with self-care — activities that are, for me, about self-worth as well as generating positive energy — I struggle to execute. And I’m concerned that these tiny attentions are fading away so easily, that so much of who and what I am seems adrift in an ocean of days flowing each into the next.

No, I won’t disappear into these dark moods. I always pull myself back up; that “me“ is still very much here. But I just have to say it. It’s hard. Most days, it’s a battle.

Yesterday morning, I looked around my place. I concentrated on one task at a time. I tackled the first stack of bills and began opening and sorting and paying. I filed the associated paperwork. I even got on the phone and powered through a number of calls I needed to make — despite repeatedly being put on hold.

I ignored the laundry, again, but I had taken advantage of Black Friday sales to pick up a few colorful cotton T-shirts at a deep discount. That buys me more laundry-avoidance time.

And the face?

I glanced in the mirror. And I said to myself aloud: “Come on, girl, get it together!”

I padded back to my bedroom in my leopard slippers. I picked up a black eyeliner and did my thing. (Yup, works wonders.) I shuffled my way to the bathroom where I plucked foundation from a shelf and dabbed a little on the dark circles under the eyes. The lip gloss was nearby — not even a four-second effort — et voilà.

Another quick glance at the end result — passable. And these days, “passable” isn’t so bad. More importantly, without these seemingly insignificant moments of simulating my former mode of facing the world, I don’t feel like myself. Or rather, I’m not my “good” self. Instead, I’m droopy. I slump. My mood droops and slumps.

(See below. Yup. Pretty droopy, don’t you think?)

I’m reminded of the physical and mental health benefits of good posture. Sitting and standing up straight reduces back discomfort, for sure. But it also helps to mobilize, to invigorate, and of course, to look taller!

So I tell myself: “Sit up straight!”

I’m reminded that discipline, even the discipline of a morning application of Maybelline master precision liner, Chanel beige number 32, and Dior lip addict help me feel ready to embark on the day’s agenda, on whatever life dishes out.

Or, at the very least, more ready. And that, too, isn’t so bad.

This morning, early?

Coffee. Journal. Teeth. Face. I worked on the smile. (I know that smiling is good for your health, but forcing it remains a challenge.)

I bagged up the week’s trash. I threw on jeans and a sweatshirt. I grabbed a mask. Once outside, I was stunned at the cold and the wind — have I really missed three seasons? — but I deposited my garbage in containers in the alley, I pulled my mask up over my mouth and nose, and I walked. In. The. World. And I paid particular attention to the uneven sidewalk so as not to fall. (Looking up and tripping is an unfortunate habit.)

I couldn’t walk for long; I’m very out of shape (even with hall walking). But it’s clear that I need to reinstitute routine, even innocuous routine, into my daily doings. Yes, a walk. And yes, my 90-second application of make-up is critical to the “Come on, girl” refrain that encourages me to say NO to insidious indoor inertia and YES to remembering that I am still, well… me.

One point of self-knowledge: In the years I was raising my kids alone, I was certainly susceptible to worry, anxiety, and the many moods that come with a complicated life. But I couldn’t “indulge” in letting down, in feeling defeated, in being defeated. It was about my children. EVERYTHING and anything that needed to be done to keep them safe and whole and growing up well was non-negotiable. But these days? These past many months? Without the North Star of my kids to guide and support and love? And without seeing them, even occasionally?

Self-care, once essential to my ability to care for my kids, now lives on another planet. Emotional distance (from Real Me to “This” Me) has become a tool for survival. Small acts that concern only me feel unimportant.

And sometimes I have to say to myself: “Come on, girl… just put on some damn make-up!”

I imagine that these feelings of lassitude and disconnection are replicated across tens of thousands of households. More to the point: I imagine that pandemic-related depression to varying degrees is gripping millions of us — can’t we just admit it? — as we grapple with ways to “get through.” And in my case, to “get it together” enough to not lose the me I still hope, one day, to become.

What helps?

Sure — any safe, pleasant, calming, soul-satisfying human contact we can manage. Absolutely — counting our blessings if our loved ones are okay. Definitely — creating, creating almost anything at all, for those of us who are about conceiving, designing, and building. And certainly — giving to others any way we can because for many of us, giving is the way we find meaning in our lives.

But for me, right now, I need something more. Some old friends having to do with the way I was formed. The way I have always survived and thrived. Discipline. Persistence. Minor acts of “bravery” like that short walk early this morning. A swift kick in the derrière when my inner dialog churns out excuses not to be disciplined, persistent, or “brave.” Repeating to myself: I can rather than I can’t.

How are you doing with inertia? With moodiness? How well are you maintaining routines? How slouchy/slumpy/droopy do you find yourself these days as opposed to, say… a year ago? And did you succumb to any holiday shopping on Black Friday or Cyber Monday? I picked up some all-cotton t-shirts in a variety of colors at a HUGE discount, woohoo! (I can put off laundry for a while longer.)

 

You May Also Enjoy

• Posture Perfect

• The Nature of Smiling

• Hall Walking