I’m always in comfy clothes – as is the life of a mom to a very busy household. My frizzy, dead-ended hair scraped into a rough messy-bun and makeup minimal – not the most attractive but necessary, quick and functional.
Well, with my late-mothers’ birthday coming up – alongside the trauma’s surrounding that from other events, I would usually go a little off the rails. But I am trying something different – getting out of my comfort zone, doing a few vanity and happy tasks and trying my best not to end up hurting to the level that I did last year [and still carry the scars from – metaphorically, mentally, emotionally and physically]
I had been feeling like I had somewhat lost a little of my identity amongst the rash of hospital appointments, extra-needs and being so busy that to stop meant to think, and to think, was dangerous.
Well I got my hair done. Took all day, but actually went to a hairdressers, which I hadn’t for myself for about 10 years, and spent the day having a cut, colour, highlights and about 3.5 inches cut off of my incredibly long mane. I came out of there feeling pretty.
Another thing I hadn’t felt for years. Pretty.
Though I then had messages telling me that I looked hot! Ohmygosh. Hot. I know I can give the natural domme energy which gives the illusion of being hot and feeling hot but that vulnerable side of me never felt pretty or attractive anymore, especially in mom-mode. So to look in the mirror… and feel, pretty – was like wow.
A lightbulb went off – with that selfish act of self-care. I can girl. I should girl. I should give myself a bit more grace and allow myself time to dress up or do my makeup or do my hair. I should wear the lingerie and take the selfies. I should try to enjoy myself. I should learn the girl skills that I have always wanted to have but never learnt. I should.
I preach to everyone that self-care is important: I should take my own sermons!
So I promise myself a little self-care. Even if it’s skincare and haircare. I promise myself trips to the hairdressers in future. I promise myself moments that are a little selfish. And selfish isn’t a bad thing.
Then Saturday, I am off back to London for the day, the coach arriving back to Cardiff just after midnight, on my late-mother’s birthday, after the day of reminiscing, good-byes, and showing one of my spawn the city, where I am from.
I am oddly not nervous. Though I should be – as I am so far out of my comfort zone and safety bubble. I guess that is because I have also been so homesick for many years, homesick through trials and tribulations and I get to see where I grew up one more time.
I always say that the city has my heart.
At least I will venture back, a little more me, a little less survivalist on the Brink of Burnout.
The Sacred Unravelling 