Every once in a while, I write myself a letter. They begin with “Dear Elizabeth” because obviously it must be formal, and always ends with a half-hearted compliment and “Love, Lizzie.”
In separating the names, I like to think that what I am telling myself are directions rather than self-affirmations, a past version of me giving guidance rather than a moody girl writing in her bedroom.
At the beginning of the semester on a night when stress felt like it had finally overtaken my ability to think critically and be a good person, I wrote myself another letter. Ugly-crying on my bed as one does, I wrote, “Please learn to love a bit more.”
Being quite delirious at the moment of conception, I don’t really know what I initially meant by it. I obviously had not loved myself in the right ways in order to be so swamped and feeling so downtrodden. But in my own pity parade, I had also neglected the feelings of those around me. Overall, the love coming out of me was not enough, and it wasn’t sustainable.
This fall semester has been one where I have tried to emphasize self-care. Have I been so successful in prioritizing that? No. My sleep schedule is insane and I still don’t eat at regular variables and choose to work instead. My life isn’t healthy at the moment, and I’m not thankful for that, but instead I’m thankful for being aware of it.
I have been a clinically stressed individual since middle school, hoping to get into a good high school, in order to get into a good college, and on and on and on. For the first time in my life, I am able to detect when I am not practicing self-care. Now, I know when to start making pockets of time in order to be good to myself and give myself a small break. Surprisingly, I’ve actually started to do it.
So this Thanksgiving, I am thankful for learning how to take breaks and reevaluate my time management. Yes, I am still stressed, but this is a process of progression rather than one of rapid life shifts. It freaking sucks, but it’s a process I’m thankful for.
Dear Elizabeth,
At this very moment, you’re kind of killing it.
Love,
Lizzie