When self care lacks glamour
Over the past year, the opioid crisis has claimed more lives than we have been able to comprehend, and it has had such a profound and immeasurable impact on our communities.
As front line workers in the midst of the crisis, every single loss affects us more than the last, and as we all become more acutely aware of the preventable deaths we experience, each one seems more and more overwhelming.
The most recent client I lost happened in November, and it was one of the most heartbreaking losses I have experienced to date because his passing (and the deaths of all three of his sisters in the past 5 years) represented our collective failures: the 60s scoop, residential schools and the resulting intergenerational trauma, and a completely disjointed system that could not and would not fix the symptoms let alone the root of the trauma.
Since that loss, I have relentlessly asked myself how I can ensure his life was not lost in vain, and it is difficult, because the deaths persist.
My role is to advocate for folks who are not being supported, and to continue practicing compassion with people who rarely encounter it. Is that enough?
To be honest, I am not as sure as I was when I first dove head first into this work that it truly is enough. Compassion that is not paired with systemic change is still impactful, and it is so important, but it is hard to rest knowing a person’s loss of life may still occur, not from lack of compassion or advocacy, but because a system that failed them will not care for them. It’s tough to reconcile.
In response to the tragic year we have had, I have engaged in every self care practice that exists: lavish baths, cupcakes, gratitude journals, mindfulness, exercise, even establishing regular “happy” routines.
I love eating cupcakes and having baths, but they are not bringing back the countless people we have lost this year and it does not create a health care system that understands addiction as a symptom of trauma.
If there is anything I have learned over the past year, it is that self care often is not glamorous. It is finding moments of laughter with the people who inspire you, arming yourself with the language you need to advocate in the most impactful way, or crying with colleagues who understand how hopeless this all seems at times.
More recently, I have been trying to come to terms that maybe self care might even mean talking a short break, if it can help bring me back to myself. This, as you may understand, is a particularly difficult thought to process.
None of the above actions scream glamour, yet they are so important to our survival, and thus, self care.
The resilience of the people we work with will always fuel my optimism, and my faith that our world will soon collectively and compassionately care for those who need it most will never die, but as part of my own less than glamorous self care, I need to admit that it is really, really hard to do this work sometimes.
Let’s continue to be honest with ourselves, for ourselves, so we can keep showing up for those who need us.
