That F-ing cat.
And other signs you may be neglecting self-care
It was Christmas eve and I was high on Santa snacks and reindeer treats. The magic in my daughters’ eyes were a contagious wildfire.
I’m not a hugely festive guy. I grew up in a family of emotionally withdrawn men where outbursts of excitement and emotional elation make us… uncomfortable.
This is a learned behavior, no doubt, and I am slowly unlearning it. But it still feels, somehow, unnatural. Like showering with your pants on or driving on the wrong side of the road.
Anyways, tonight I was sugar-coated melty-chocolate frosting-dipped excited. It felt good. It felt very…Hallmark dad.
The only thing sour you’d find in my house was the half inch of milk left in Santa’s glass. Oh, and the 3 day old half eaten cheese stick lodged behind the couch covered in hair and cheerio dust. And maybe my recent credit card transaction history. Yeah, definitely that.
Remember the milk for later.
We had prepped the girls, rehearsed the story, and were ready to force feed them our cultural kool aid in the most America way possible.
One final act of generosity on a night of abhorrent fiscal irresponsibility. Something to balance the scales.
Carrots, celery, cookies, and milk in hand we lead the girls over to our masterfully decorated Christmas tree under which sat an unreasonable amount of presents and a nightmarish display of pine needles and permanently damp towels.
Because real trees are cool. And, uh, symbolism? Yeah. Symbolism.
We were showing them what, or rather who, the snacks and milk were for. It was a sort of scripted serendipity. Afterwards, we whisked the girls off to bed with our magic parent superpowers and the promise that “the sooner you go to sleep the sooner Santa will come.”
But really we were tired and had a lot of stuff still left to do before Santa came and took credit for all our hard work.
The cat
Enter stage left, my cat.
He’s a good boy. Sometimes. Very sweet and affectionate but a total dickhead for no reason. Maybe that’s just all cats. I’m still convinced we got a lemon.
As my cat danced between my legs like a money hungry charlatan, I was preparing carrot pieces and fragmenting cookies to make it seem like Santa had done his bidding, eaten our offering, and skedaddled to the next house where he would no doubt be treated to the same hospitality. I was focused on my work like a freshly calibrated laser. Being an engineer has its pros and cons. The plate of food, which I had set on a 3 foot stool by the tree, was looking amazing. Believable.
My cat reached up with a paw in that cute innocent way cats do. I batted it away and gave him a scratch behind the ear before shoo-ing him off. He came back again.
Because, cats.
I pushed him away again. He started to get frisky. I went back to my work and quickly found my flow state. He came back one final time and I swear I saw Darth Vader waltzing down that main hallway on Tantive IV. This time reaching his little paw up over the stool, he firmly gripped the rim of that full glass of milk.
Remember the milk? Yeah. The milk.
Like a marketing clip straight out of a middle school “Got Milk” campaign ad, the glass of milk flipped through the air in slow-motion majestic glory before emptying all over the stool, soaking the plate, and drenching the carpet.
I watched as the milk stood suspended on the carpet. In case you didn’t know, there’s a very strict scientifically verified 5 seconds before standing liquid on carpets immediately absorbs. In those 5 seconds, if you’re lucky enough, you can grab a wad of paper towels and slowly press the affected area soaking up most of the spilled liquid. I was not so lucky. And down the milk went into the depths of my carpet.
Something in me snapped.
I shot to my feet and shouted, “Stupid F-ing cat!”
Now, this is out of character for me. I don’t swear. It’s just not a thing I do.
But the fairy dust wasn’t enough to cover up the stress that had been building below the surface. We all do it. Pick a face, slap it on over the emptiness, and smile a whole bunch. Perfect the fake laugh and jump from one activity to the next as quickly as possible. Lest we give ourselves the 5 minutes necessary to stop, breath, and realize that we are quite far from happy.
We pretend that by making everyone else happy, by doing all these noble charitable deeds for others, we are making ourselves happy.
This is an unapologetic lie.
In that moment of deep expressive brevity, I had felt the stress of coming off of work straight into the holidays after weeks of gift giving prep and emotionally intense letter writing. I felt the dissatisfaction of my job weighing heavily on my shoulders.
The months of self neglect I had insisted on maintaining so I could be ever present for my family.
I felt the coming days of absolute chaos and obligatory visits like a circus muse on groundhog day. I felt the loss of 5 of my 10 vacation days being deposited for other people when really I needed just one for myself.
Something, anything, a pick-me-up. But there was none to be had. And it was my fault, really.
We would be living Christmas for the next 72 hours. Skirting uncomfortable family gatherings with surface conversation, getting the latest scoop on aunt so-and-so and being debriefed on war updates between grandma entitled and cousin gets-offended-too-quick.
The people we actually wanted to spend time with would get but a few hours of our time as we shuttled tired toddlers, snacks, and mostly unnecessary overpriced bottom bin gifts around town. Every year we tell family to go small, we don’t want the girls to grow up in an environment of “stuff.”
The holidays should be about bonding, spending time with people that matter to you, and catching up on the good stuff of life.
Substance.
Like…You know…. Meaningful things.
“You should be enjoying the holidays,” I would tell friends. I should heed my own advice.
The smiles I gave were good enough for the people around me and I thought I had convinced myself, but the fluttering in my chest and the shallow breaths at night were loud, insistent, troubling.
Self-care
Try as we might, the truth will reveal itself. Sometimes in burnout and chronic fatigue or subtle decay of personality. Sometimes in uncharacteristically bombastic outbursts.
Thank your body for this, or maybe your cat. In the same way you might instinctually snap your hand away from a hot surface, or develop a fever when sick, your mental and emotional health indicators are alerting you that something is amiss.
Self-care is wildly underrated and enforcing it often puts us at odds with those closest.
It usually means taking time back from those you have promised it, enforcing uncomfortable boundaries, or pissing off the in-laws when you tell them this year you will be missing the Christmas day bash to focus inwardly on your family.
Taking care of yourself doesn’t equate to being selfish. In fact it is quite the opposite. When you are at your best, you show up for those you care about in peak form. We have a habit of guilting ourselves out of self-care because of time. There is only work time or family time; obligations time.
If we want “me” time, we have to take it from somewhere, from someone. Trust me, though, your family wants you to take care of yourself. They need it. You need it.
Don’t find yourself physically present but emotionally, mentally absent. You might as well not be there.
Self-care starts with honesty and courage. It starts with asking yourself generative questions and reframing your purpose with system based tools rather than outcome based tools. Don’t tell yourself, “I want to be happy.” Tell yourself, “I want to go to bed early and exercise 3 times before Sunday.”
If you need alone time, ask your spouse if they are comfortable handling bedtime alone 2 nights a week so you can write, walk, think, work on a project while you still have energy.
Give yourself objectives, not vague ideological expectations.
If I want to enjoy the holidays I need to be actionable and intentional about my time. I need to advocate for myself and push back on those things that are not serving me or my family right now.
Boundaries give you clear space to operate within. This is a good thing. Destigmatize the negativity around what boundaries mean and start throwing up some walls of protection. You will find relationships to be more tolerable, life to be more fulfilling, and self-care to be realistic and attainable. People may not like the boundaries you put up.
That’s okay.
You’re not here to please the world. You’re here to live your best life.
Take care of yourself. Find your peace. Advocate for your own health’s sake and for those around you who want the best you, the whole you. Not the partial, irritable, unpredictably needy you.
Prioritize yourself. It’s not selfish, it’s healthy.
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Above all else — enjoy the journey.
Much love,
Tony