Whenever I first get a new phone or gadget, I take really good care of it and protect it like it’s a newborn baby.
I do my best to make sure the screen doesn’t get all scratched up, that it’s safely out of harm’s way of my bathtub or toilet, and that it’s safely nestled in its protective casing — ya know, just in case.
Then that inevitable ‘first drop’ takes place — the one where suddenly I feel like I’m moving in slow motion saying “NOOOO!” as I see it fall to the floor– but I’m not fast enough to be able to do anything about it.
Of course, my panic was unnecessary, as I pick it up and realize that even though it got its first scratch or bruise, it was gonna be juuust fine.
But with every new phone I get, that new novelty wears off little by little.
The shiny new object loses it’s just-out-of-the-box luster after so long, and other things become more of a priority than taking care of my phone.
The days, weeks, and months pass by me as my life goes on.
Then I get the inevitable email from my cell phone company letting me know that I’m almost ‘due’ for an upgrade.
I start scanning the latest models and have daydreams about my future cellular partner-in-crime– premeditating all the things we’ll do and places we’ll go.
By this point though, every time I look down at my current phone, I notice how banged up it is — how scratched up and bogged down and aged it has become.
And THAT is when I start dragging that thing around like it’s a BURDEN — secretly waiting for my upgrade to come through so I can get rid of this “piece of shit phone” and get a new one.
The honeymoon was over.
The thing I used to look at with ‘googley eyes’ and take care of like it was my first born child has now officially become a nuisance, an annoyance, and something I can’t wait to get rid of or replace.
The idea of being ‘stuck’ with this piece of junk for the rest of my life …. pshhh! Please tell me it’s a bad nightmare.
I know, I know. It really is a hard knock life, right? Starving children in Somalia AND my cell phone is slow and outdated.
But we’re all a bit guilty of this, right?
Maybe it’s not your Iphone perse, but there’s something in your life that you treat like gold when it’s new and exciting (and giving you that post-purchase dopamine rush that feels oh-so-good in the moment).
And just like any gadget or gizmo, you use it until it doesn’t operate efficiently anymore– or until there’s no more rev in it’s engine.
So now let me ask you this? How do you treat your body?
And I don’t just mean your arms, your legs, and the hair on your head.
I mean all of it — all the little bits and bobs that comprise this miraculous piece of machinery that we are all damn fortunate to be able to test drive throughout our lifetime.
Do you treat it like your cell phone?
Do you treat it like you have another one waiting for you on standby at the phone factory or Apple store?
Do you love it and protect it and care for it as much as you would a brand new ipad or (gulp!) a brand new car?
Truth is, I didn’t for most of my life.
I mean why would I care? Isn’t that something you’re supposed to worry about when you get to become your mom or dad’s age?
Isn’t that something that ‘old people’ are supposed to worry about?
I understand that at the ripe ol’ age of 31 I’m not ‘supposed’ to know what goes on inside the mind of someone double or triple my age that’s simply trying to take care of their body, but I DO.
About 6 years ago, I couldn’t have cared less about self-care or taking care of my body.
Just like any other 20-something ‘kid’ like myself at the time, my biggest body concern was whether or not my ‘muffin top’ was hanging my jeans, and if I could smooth it out with shapewear.
Thinking about my “body as a miraculous machine” was BOOOORING to me.
It wasn’t as ‘sexy’ as looking good in my ‘skinny jeans’ or fitting into that cute little black dress.
I didn’t know what I didn’t know…and I only knew what I knew.
My injury, surgery, and subsequent after-effects of my surgery completely changed the way I saw my body (and the bodies of those I worked with) …and started a journey that would force me to relearn things like how to crawl, stand up, and walk again (and THEN eventually run).
Here’s what I would say about it now:
I used to completely neglect my body — almost like it was my old beaten-down cell phone right before I was due for a new one.
I cared more about how it looked or what size it wore than how it felt, how it moved, or how long it would be able to stay ‘in service’.
I punished it, restricted it, and fought it every step of the way when it didn’t perform to my liking.
I starved it, overstuffed it, pounded it in the pavement, over-exerted it, and then got mad at it when it needed a break from all of my demands.
But most important to note, I treated it like it was just a ‘thing’ that I was stuck with, burdened by, or just putting up with for a little while until I could replace it with a newer model.
The shocker to me: There was no newer model waiting for me in some factory.
This was it — this was the only one I got.
And this fact PISSED ME OFF for a very long time.
But I wasn’t mad at the universe or the cards I got dealt. I was pissed off at ME — at my body — at myself for being someone who ‘let’ her body become so ‘broken’. (I use these ‘air quotes’ because this was actually how I talked to and about my body — like my body was ‘broken’ and like I did something to ‘deserve’ it all.)
The more I got pissed at it, the less I deemed it worthy to get my love, attention, and care.
So I brought on MORE punishment, restriction, and abuse.
The cycle continued:
Treat it like crap. Hate it some more. Show it who’s boss. Punish, restrict, wash, rinse, repeat.
So what I’m about to say might piss off some people that believe that self-love is the ‘miracle’ that will change your life.
How can you truly love something (your body) or someone (yourself) that you don’t even deem worthy to take care of?
What if self-care was the new self-love?
What if self-care was the new self-worth or self-esteem?
What if self-care was the new weight loss?
What if your love for yourself could and would skyrocket if you simply treated it more like a newborn baby or shiny new cell phone….rather than gum on the bottom of your shoe?
You don’t have to be 55+ or deemed a senior citizen to start caring for your body like it’s the only one you’ve got.
You can still care about your jean size or waistline. You can still care how fast you run or how strong you are. And you can still desire to change the way your body looks, moves, or feels.
But I urge you to do it from a place of self-care, not self-control or self-discipline.
And I can say with certainty that if you are indeed on a quest for self-love, the road will be a hell of a lot bumpier (if even possible) if you don’t first pass through self- acceptance and self-care.
Trust me, you are WAY more valuable than some shiny new cell phone
