When I had my meltdown in January it became clear I was going to need help dealing with difficult things looming over me. My father’s illness for one, my own health issues another, the human condition, personal reflection (I’ll be forty soon) and change…the way life changes on us, good or bad…has always been a challenge for me.

Being mindful of the tough road ahead, watching it twist ominously among all the unknowns, gave me reason to pause and decide that practicing self-care is a must.

Some view self-care as a chore, if so then maybe you don’t need it so much. For me, it’s comfort and, quite frankly, sometimes all I have to keep despair at bay. And the  effect is cumulative, in my case at least, and help me withstand or recover from the crush of sadness or the bittersweet reality of growing older.

Since I got back from New York in March I’ve been working on self-care and one thing that seems to work well is flowers. Very simple flowers, in a (cliché) mason jar vase set on my bedroom dresser so that I can see them first thing when I open my eyes each morning. It’s become a weekly thing or maybe not quite that if the flowers last longer.

Not something I would have done for myself before now –

Shouldn’t someone else be buying you flowers? Besides they just die, you flower murderer…or in my ex-husband’s voice I’d hear: Flowers are a HUGE waste.

But they aren’t a waste, not to me.

I’ll post a little snap of each new tiny bouquet. Calling them B-Okays, actually.

Whatever works, do that.

image © Aimee McEwen