When Your Body Finally Says No

After two weeks of dealing with allergies with an asthmatic component, this morning, I finally gave in. I spent the morning on the couch.

Not in some noble, intentional, self-care kind of way. More like, I woke up with a fever, a sinus headache, stuffy head, a touch of dizziness, and barely able to make it to the couch. 

Exhausted. Congested. And humbled. The kind of tired that makes it clear your body has moved beyond gently asking for attention and into the no turning back place. I curled up with pillows, a blanket and a cat on either side of me and took a three hour nap.

I’m a pharmacist. I know the difference between allergies, a cold, and a sinus infection that has been quietly brewing. I would be the one to coach a friend to take care of the symptoms before they turned into an acute situation. But when it comes to myself, I tend to push through it all until my body takes over and puts me on the couch to get my attention.

I have been focused on my dad. On what needed to happen. On getting him settled. On making sure the moving pieces were handled. Somewhere in the middle of all that, my own body became one more thing to deal with ... but later. There were so many things on my to do list that got pushed aside so I could support my dad. 

There were social plans that I didn't want to cancel because I needed to have some fun and find some joy with friends.

Around 2:30 this afternoon, I dragged myself to the pharmacy to get a decongestant to relieve the pressure in my head. I pulled out of the parking lot to head home and I heard a voice in my head tell me to go to the walk-in clinic to get antibiotics. I almost ignored it. I just wanted to get back on the couch. 

Instead I made a U-turn, and went to the walk-in clinic.

It was such a simple moment. And somehow, not simple at all. Sometimes the hardest thing for caregivers, helpers, and women who are used to holding it all together is admitting that we need care too.

The walk in visit took all of 15 minutes. Never in the history of me have I ever experienced such a quick, efficient visit. My diagnosis was confirmed. They sent in a prescription for antibiotic and I was on my way back to the couch. 

While I was waiting for my prescription, I connected with another woman who was also there waiting. She shared that she was caring for her husband who is disabled. We found our way quickly into conversation about caregiving and how hard it can be. She spoke first and shared about the toll it takes. The way women so often keep going, keep managing, keep carrying, even when their own bodies are clearly asking for attention.

She also validated something I’ve known for a long time and keep hearing again and again:
This caregiving conversation matters.
The support matters.
And the book I’m writing is needed.

Maybe part of why it is needed is because so many women have been conditioned to treat themselves as the most flexible part of the system.
The appointment for our own care can wait.
The rest can wait.
The walk can wait.
The healthy meal can wait.

We wait and wait until the body finally says no.

Not because we are weak.
Not because we do not know better.
Not because we do not value our health.
But because when someone else needs something, especially someone we love, our own needs become negotiable.

We tell ourselves we will deal with it tomorrow.
After this appointment.
After the paperwork.
After the crisis.
After everyone else is okay.

The truth is, caregiving has a way of expanding to fill every available space ... if we let it. Self-care,  at least in seasons like this, is rarely glamorous. It is not a bubble bath, a spa day, or a perfectly curated morning routine.

Sometimes it is getting honest. Sometimes it is canceling the thing. Taking the meds. Going to urgent care. Getting back on the couch. And admitting you are not fine.

Sometimes it is letting your body matter as much as everyone else you have been caring for. That was the lesson for me today. It is not a shiny one. It is not a pretty one. It is just a real one. The kind that leaves you a little wrung out, a little more tender, and maybe a little wiser.

I’m on the mend now, but I can also see how easy it would have been to keep minimizing this for another few days. To push through. To override. To postpone.

I know I am not alone in that. If you are caring for someone right now, or carrying more than most people can see, let this be your reminder:
Your needs are not the interruption.
Your body leaves clues.
Your exhaustion is not a character flaw.
And taking care of yourself before you completely crash is not selfish.

It is part of how you keep going. Sometimes the most loving thing we can do is stop waiting until we are completely flattened to finally listen.

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