thawing into bloom
spring is stirring
So many times in the last few months I’ve chided myself for sleeping on my substack. I’ve written without pressing publish.
Impotence is the word that comes to mind. Disorientation is another. I feel like I have been living inside of a snow globe being vigorously shaken. Finally, the dust is starting to settle.
Meanwhile, my journal is in her renaissance. She’s overflowing — she even has flowers climbing up her spine. For the first time ever, I am on track to fill 200 pages in just a few months.
I’m all for a reframe. Finding a hopeful lens for the landscape I live inside has been my MVP coping mechanism and survival strategy for my 30s.
Let’s give it a shot:
It’s been a season of incubation with lots of stirring, churning, and curing. This last year lived up to its Chinese zodiac year of the snake: I shed layers and felt the raw itch of new flesh forming.
My writing here has been a place of curiosity to witness myself as I transform. Advocacy is a huge part of who I’ve become. It’s how I metabolize loss and fear into something good again.
Watching terminal illness play out in my partner while we were in our 30s left me with a lot of questions. Caring for his body as it fought terminal illness changed the way I think about my own body.
A health crisis often prompts a shift in the way we take care of ourselves. Suddenly, we are staring down our mortality and motivated to preserve what we have. This feels cultural – we all have arrived here as a result of many generations before us and systems developed to support the lifestyles we are living and our evolving preferences.
With technology ushering in modern convenience, our care models have shifted. Food is prepared less at home and we are increasingly looking outside ourselves to feel well – spa days, retail therapy, and leaning on healthcare institutions to signal when something warrants our attention.
I’m not dismissing enjoyment or the role of medicine; doctors and screening save lives. Access to medical support matters deeply, especially as it becomes more difficult for many to obtain.
I just find myself wondering about the care that begins before we ever step into a clinic and in between doctor visits — and how we distinguish between the kinds of care that feel good in the moment and the consistent, quiet kind that shapes our longevity and ability to fully inhabit our lives.
My mind and heart have been orbiting these questions:
What if prevention began as a daily practice, not just a medical milestone?
What if we acted as lifelong stewards of our bodies — tending to them with the same care we give our homes?
What if our choices were guided by what feels best for our bodies when we wake up in the morning? How would that shape our experience of living?
There aren’t any guarantees in life — we can do all the right things and still be dealt an outcome that feels unjust. Even still, don’t we owe it to ourselves and those we love to treat our bodies as if we plan to be around for many years to come?
I imagine there are as many ways to show up with care for our bodies as there are bodies. I’m curious how it lands for you.
What does care look like inside of your body and routine?
If this conversation resonates, stay awhile!
If you know someone who’s thinking about these questions too, I’d love to widen the circle.