Five Years Old Again

Laying in the middle of my floor on top of a well-used yoga mat I feel an ache in my head. I feel a pulsating behind my eyes. My throat is tight and scratchy. Nothing feels quite nice. And suddenly I am five years old again and desperately in want of my mother and a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup served in my favorite Peter Rabbit bowl. While tears spring into my eyes and I feel l the injustice of the world in my sick body I will myself to get up and make some tea. That is always step one to feeling a bit better.

It has always been easy for me to talk down to myself.

I used to see it as a motivator. My inner dialogue with myself consisted of berating statements and name calling. It is something that I have been working on, something that I have been revolutionizing. In times when I am sick I often revert to such hazardous speech instead of caring for myself. It does not help icky feelings to call yourself names or to say how stupid you are for getting sick again. My body has so much to deal with, it does not need me bullying it.

Be kind to yourself.

My mother reminds me of this all the time. It is slowly sinking in. So as I sit here typing, feet clad in warm ducky socks that are propped on the table, a mug of green tea just in my reach, in comfy clothes I realize that being sick is never fun, but kindness, especially to myself will only hasten the healing time. The mind and the body are connected. If one is not feeling well, then the other blindly follows suit. Crying feels like something I might do and that is alright. Like most of life’s problems, time will serve as the cure.

So, I will keep boiling water for endless amounts of tea.

I will call my mom because that is the only way for me to be close to her.

I will rest.

Most importantly, I will be kind to myself.

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