RouletteWeekend

I’m not a “bath” person. I prefer a shower to get clean. I actually don’t remember the last time I took a bath. If I had to guess, I would say I only did it because a shower was unavailable. Don’t get me wrong, I love the water. I just don’t love stewing in my own broth. I’d rather bathe in a lake which doesn’t make much sense considering how filthy our lakes and rivers are, but natural filth is easier for me to accept than my own grunginess. Don’t ask me why. It’s just some random disconnect in my brain. Or, at least, it has been.

Today, I may have turned into a “bath” person. I’ve had a long week. Hell, I’ve had a long month. No good reason. February is just hard on me from a mental health standpoint. It’s always the worst for my Seasonal Affective Disorder. I try really hard to stick to a self-care routine daily, and then February comes along and derails me like a bunch of carefully placed pennies on a train track.

My workouts take a back seat, my nutrition takes a flying leap out the window, my writing is pretty much non-existent, my meditation begs to be turned into medication….nyquil, tequila, anything to make me hibernate, and forget about quieting my mind. It’s the fucking New York Times Square on New Year’s Eve in there. Too much screaming. All I can hear is myself thinking, doubting, beating myself up for all the things I want to do but for some reason refuse to even get started on. Which all turns into physical symptoms. This week it was swollen lymph nodes, a headache, sore muscles, and tiny elves banging nails into my right eardrum.

February was winning.

The negativity was so strong today that I decided maybe one of those Hallmark television moments with self might do the trick. Will agreed that something needed to give. My lackluster mood and negative commentary about life were way out of character for me. He probably scrubbed the tub because he was going to drown me if Plan A (take a hot soak) didn’t work.

Good News! It helped. I won’t say “worked,” but definitely helped.

We filled the bathtub with steaming hot water & Epsom salts, I put on a mud mask, lit some incense and a candle and hopped in the tub to stew. And stew I did.

I also meditated. I inhaled the silence and patchouli. I exhaled the negativity I had been carrying around. I was still. Just loving self-talk. No self-sabotage.

Turns out, hallmark is right, soaking in a hot bath really is a form of self-care. I didn’t go out and buy anything special. I just used what we already had lying around the house. And then I shut the door. No phone. No book. No music. Just the sound of water lapping around me. No responsibilities. No chores. No voices. Just quiet.

As I write this, the window is open and I can hear a neighbor kid crying. I think she could use a nice long soak too. I’m pretty sure it works even better for kids.

So for now, I’m feeling refreshed. Cold air coming through the window on my wet hair, my favorite t-shirt keeping me company, and my fingers moving across a keyboard– probably the only thing that makes me feel complete on these cold, short, days.

Maybe a long, hot bath is the key to short bouts of creativity.

I guess there’s only one way to find out.