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I named this newsletter “Self-Care Sundays,” but I’ve realized that name might be a little misleading. Yes, I include a self-care tip at the end of every newsletter, and the sections devoted to current favorites and a screen-time update have undertones of self-care, but this is not a space where I am writing essays on the topic. Truthfully, I don’t feel qualified to do so. Most weeks I do an adequate job at keeping myself functioning, but I rarely venture beyond that.
When I hear the term “self-care,” I think of face masks and iced drinks with cold foam and fresh tulips in a ceramic vase. I consider all of those things as luxuries and extras, and as such, I don’t indulge in any of them very often. In this phase of life, with kids and credit card debt and school, self-care looks like irresponsibly staying up late after the kids are in bed to try and reclaim any of my time, or splurging on the combo (or maybe even the large combo) in a fast food drive thru instead of just the entree, even though I have water at home. So unfortunately for you readers, this isn’t a newsletter about how to take care of yourself in a little-treats-and-a-bubble-bath kind of way.
Rather, writing these weekly newsletters is how I practice self-care for me. Writing both fuels and heals me, and yet it is all too easy to neglect and avoid. It feels selfish to take the time every week to write when I also have forty three unread text messages, hundreds of pages of assigned reading from school, and kids who I should probably read to or play with or cook for.
But that is precisely why I must write: because it is selfish. Because I give parts of myself away all day long, that I deserve to keep some for myself, too. And if it’s between doom scrolling and convincing myself that, “I deserve a break,” or gaslighting myself that I don’t have a chronic form of writer’s block and forcing myself to write something, anything, for even ten minutes, I’m going to choose the latter. I’m going to choose to write, because it’s selfish and it’s invigorating and it’s relaxing, and yes, for me, it’s self-care.
So that is what Self-Care Sundays are all about it. These newsletters are proof that no matter how hectic the week may have been, that I still carved out some time to do something for me and to fill my cup. If my words and stories have an impact on someone else while I’m at it, even better. But if not, I’m perfectly happy writing into the void. After all, as you’ll read in this week’s story, writing into the void is how this whole mess began…
Chapter 1: The Birth of a Writer
The year is 2010. My family is nearing the end of our two-year sentence in New Jersey courtesy of my dad’s job — accounting, not military — and I am counting down the days until June. Come the end of my fourth grade year, my family will head to Newark, board a plane that’s a little too small for comfort but heading in the right direction, and thankfully never have to look back.
We knew when we arrived in New Jersey that it would just be a temporary stint, but in many ways, that made it worse. Making friends in third and fourth grade as a pre-pubescent girl is hard enough, but it’s made harder when it feels like you’re working against a deadline. I didn’t see a point in trying to forge close friendships when I knew I would be leaving eventually anyways, and evidently my classmates felt the same.
Something in me changed those years, and I will never know whether it was because of the move, or simply growing pains. I became more sensitive, more reserved. I grew more self-conscious of myself, my clothes, my actions. I began to worry that I was annoying, or that there was something inherently wrong with me that propelled potential friends away. Anger kindled inside me, anger at my classmates and my siblings and my parents and the world. My mom took me to see a therapist, and I remember nothing of the incident other than I never went back.
I began to fantasize about running away, though to where, I had no plan. One time I even went as far as to pack up my drawstring gym bag with granola bars and mini water bottles, and take off down the street on my Razor Blade scooter. When I made it to the first intersection, marked by a fire station and a sign that said, “Cedar Knolls City Limits,” I paused. I looked both ways. And then I turned around and went home, just in time for dinner. In all my angst, I wondered if my family had even noticed my absence.
Our move back to North Carolina in 2010 ended up being my family’s last move during my childhood, so in many ways, life improved after that. But in other ways, the damage had been done. The way I viewed myself and my relationships was fundamentally altered, but thanks to two exceptional teachers, I had acquired one new skill that I was able to wield as both a weapon and shield during my most sensitive and vulnerable moments:
Writing.
Sister Verdu taught Sunday School to the kids ages nine through eleven at the church my family attended when we lived in New Jersey. The class consisted of only me and two other girls who were both two years older than me, compared to which I felt impossibly uncool. We mostly learned about stories from the Bible and the Book of Mormon, but one Sunday, Sister Verdu decided to take a different approach. She explained to us that the scriptures existed in part because people a long time ago wrote about their life and kept a personal record of the things they saw and learned. Then, she pulled from her bag three green and pink striped notebooks. She went on to say that we, too, could keep a record of our lives, and proceeded to teach us about journaling. I was fascinated — what nine year old girl isn’t interested in the concept of a diary? As soon as I got home, I covered the front of my journal with glitter and stickers, wrote “Meg’s 1st Journal” on the first page, and got to work. Once I started, I never stopped, and now I have been journaling for seventeen years.
While I was beginning to practice regular journaling at home, we also began a creative writing unit in my fourth grade classroom. I vividly remember our first writing prompt: to write the sentence, “I ate ice cream.” Then, our teacher told us to make it more descriptive. And then more descriptive. And then more. Mr. Burns had spent the previous week teaching us all about figures of speech such as similes, metaphors, personification, onomatopoeia, and hyperbole, and now wanted us to incorporate them into this exercise. I found the endless possibilities thrilling, and this new knowledge unlocked countless avenues I wanted to explore with my writing.
Mr. Burns noticed that my interest was especially piqued on the subject, and like all good teachers do, he encouraged me continue writing. When I declared a few weeks later that I wanted to write a book, he didn’t tell me that nine year olds can’t write books or that maybe I should learn to write more short stories first. Instead, he allowed me to leave the classroom during the writing portion of class every day so that I could go to the library and work on my novel. After school, I would go home and sketch out my plans for my writing in the journal that Sister Verdu had gifted me, eager to return to the library the next day to keep working.
Without me realizing it, I slowly stopped noticing that I felt lonely at school and at church. I felt less angry at the world, and instead was more wrapped up in my own world that I created through writing. Living in New Jersey no longer felt like a mere sentence to be served, and when it came time to finally move back to North Carolina, a part of me was actually sad. I didn’t fully process this until years later, but those two teachers who helped me discover my love for writing changed the trajectory of my life for the better.
To be continued next week!
Week #3 Favorites & Highlights
- Baked Ranch Casserole. I have no link, just a simple recipe committed to memory. Don’t let the name fool you: there is no ranch involved, and I’ve never baked it, but it is a casserole of sorts, so it has that going for it! My mom used to make this when I was a kid, and at some point between the ages of six and twelve, I went from hating this meal to requesting it for my birthday every year. Now a mom myself, this meal stays in rotation because of how simple, cheap, and tasty it is. All you do is (1) cook a pound of hamburger meat according to instructions on a taco seasoning packet, (2) add a can of baked beans and a strained can of corn, and (3) let it simmer. Ta-da! Easy as can be. I eat it with tortilla chips, but in a pinch, I suppose actual utensils would suffice.
- These pens. Because what writer doesn’t love a good pen? I discovered these before I started law school, and I can confidently say that out of all of the pens I’ve owned in my life, these are the best. As a lefty who handwrites all of her notes at school and journals daily, that should tell you something! They come in a variety of colors, and the little rolly fidget ball thing on the side is an added bonus.
- Promptly Journals. I just counted, and I own fourteen of their journals! I have several blank ones that I use for everyday journaling, because I’m a sucker for a nice linen journal. My husband and I also write in the Couples’ Connection Journal, which has led to so many great conversations. We have the Love Story Journal, which gives you a space to write about your relationship from dating all the way until your fiftieth wedding anniversary, and even has a space that can be used as a wedding guest book (which we did!). And then there’s their Childhood History Journal, which is their first product I ever tried and I now have one for three of my kids. I’m not even getting paid to say any of this (though if anyone has a connection… lemme know) I just truly love their journals so much!
Note: Some links in this newsletter are affiliate links. If you click and buy, I may earn a small commission, and at no extra cost to you, you help support Step by Step Parenting!
Screen Time Check-In: Plotting My Escape Plan
I knew that lowering screen time again this week would be tricky. It was my last week before becoming a twin mom (!!) so that meant extra time on my phone planning for our hospital stay, finalizing my maternity leave plans, placing last-minute grocery orders, and simply resting on the couch as much as I could. It sounds silly, but my pregnant stomach is so large that I cannot comfortably hold most of my books to read while laying down! So unfortunately, at least for this week, “resting” and staying off of my feet often went hand-in-hand with scrolling.
So with all of those excuses out of the way, here’s what this week’s screen time looked like:
Pretty much the exact same as last week! But, I got way better as the week went on and I became more conscious of it, so at least that’s a win. I know that both for my time and my mental health, a social media detox needs to happen sometime soon. It has been obvious from paying closer attention to my screen time trends over these past three weeks that that’s what soaks up most of my time. I am writing a whole article on the topic, actually, but with everything that is set to happen this next month, it might be awhile before (a) the article is finished and (b) I work up the courage to actually delete social media. In the meantime, I’ll celebrate small victories as they occur, and this week that means being glad that at least screen time didn’t increase!
Self-Care Tip of the Week: Celebrate Endings in Life, Not Just Beginnings
Assuming that everything goes according to plan, this newsletter goes live at 9am on Sunday, February 22nd, and I get induced with my twins at midnight on Monday, February 23rd. Given that I write my newsletters ahead of time, this means this is the last one I write before life as I know it changes forever.
When you find out you’re pregnant, whether it’s your first or your fourth child, you instantly start thinking about the future. A new baby for many people means new furniture, new clothes, new routines, and maybe even a new car or place to live if necessary. You plan a baby shower with a cute theme, celebrate with your loved ones, and look forward to new beginnings.
But starting new chapters necessitates closing old ones, and sometimes these endings get overlooked and cast to the side too quickly.
I am thrilled to meet our girls. But I also have lots of mixed feelings about closing the chapter of life that I am currently in. My husband and I are essentially kid-free every other week thanks to our custody arrangements with our exes. For nearly three years, we have used those weeks to travel, run, go on dates, and enjoy a little more freedom than we do other weeks. We always missed our kids, but we had each other to lean on. We used that alone time to check in with each other and re-center ourselves before jumping into the chaos of parenting all over again the next week.
At first, the idea of going from that to having kids all the time terrified me. I’m very aware that it will be a big adjustment to go from having no kids every other week, to having not one, but two newborns, all the time, PLUS the three older kids every other week. But eventually I realized I had two options: I could fear the upcoming change, or I could choose to be grateful for the chapter that I was finishing.
I am so excited to be able to experience the newborn and toddler phase of parenting with my husband, and I am grateful for all of our solo adventures over the past three years. Both can be true! It is possible to celebrate new beginnings and celebrate phases ending, all at the same time. As the popular saying goes, “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”
That’s all (she says after casually rambling for 2,600+ words) for this week folks! I appreciate anyone who supports my writing by reading these newsletters, and I’m excited to share more lil stories and insights over the next several weeks to come. But for now, time to go have some babies! See you all next week! ❤
Step by Step Parenting 