When things aren't bad until they are.

Note: This was originally written and sent out for The Friday Feels on January 31/2020, aka pre-lockdown in North America. I’m posting it here without making any edits or changes for timeliness because it’s 2021 and who has time for that anyway.

My friend Maggie posted to her Instagram stories the other day about self care and putting on oxygen masks, and I was just tickled because that conversation is so up my alley these days.

She talked about how airline attendants will make the general disclaimer about putting your own oxygen mask on first, and then they will individually address the parents on board — especially the ones with young children, because it is so dang counter-intuitive.

They look these parents in the eye and repeat:

You must put your own oxygen mask on before helping someone else.

Even your baby.

Because not only can you not help anyone else if you've PTFO from oxygen deprivation...but your young kiddo can't help you even if they want to. I don't care how advanced your child is, Karen, a 9 month old does not have the coordination to put on a mask.

And, it's not fair to ask your child to bear the responsibility of saving you — physically or emotionally.

This was so apparent to me when I was in the midst of the Loving Mental Breakdown of 2018, when my toddler was coaching me on breathing and talking me back from the edge of a panic attack.

I am so proud that he was able to do that, and I'm also so sad that he had to take it on.

My job as a parent is to prepare my kiddos for adulting, and I'm pretty sure that means toeing the line between protecting them and giving them space to grow.

That's the labour I chose to take on when I became a parent.

It's not my kid's responsibility to protect me.

So. Great in theory. But. What does that look like in practice?

For that, we go back to the wonderfully reliable oxygen mask metaphor.

When things fell apart for me, it was because I had become too distracted by all of the urgency outside of myself, and had neglected to tend to my own needs. I would feed my kids first, and then try to clean up and start taking care of their next meal before I had fed myself.

It wasn't uncommon to reach the middle of the afternoon and realize that I hadn't eaten anything all day. Call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure consuming food is a basic component of staying alive.

Taking care of their immediate needs took precedent over my own, over and over.

And this isn't necessarily a big deal if it's the exception, which is what I thought was happening. Strategic imbalance is real, but it's not sustainable long term and that's the pattern I had inadvertently fallen into; the pattern of skipping out on nutritious food, solid sleep, regular exercise, and proper hydration...NBD.

Except that neglecting self-care practices (and the subsequent burnout) are kind of a frog in boiling water situation.

I didn't see that I was chronically depriving myself of "oxygen" until it was too late.

And then I was really struggling — to the point that my toddler stepped up to the plate to try and help me put my mask on.

What really struck me is why I, a health care professional who was specifically trained to help people manage stress, failed to recognize that my own oxygen levels were dropping...and I think it's because despite all of my training, I was subconsciously taught to ignore the red flags of boundary violations and neglect my Self.

I explained the sometimes extreme stressors in my life away as rites of passage to parenting → Aren't motherhood and martyrdom synonymous? It's supposed to be hard...and because of that, I would gaslight myself by saying that I was overreacting and being dramatic in spite of the circumstances.

After all, things weren't that bad, right?

Until they were.

Because those little digs at my sanity — my energy reserves — they stacked. And over time, a nudge of an inch each day added up and in the end it only took one more nudge and one more inch to knock me over the edge.

It wasn't anything "big"...but it was my undoing.

In the midst of my breakdown, I had to retreat. I had to go back to square one and start building myself back up so that I could do the work that's in front of me: Raising those little boys so that they grow up to change the world.

...or at least, are capable of basic functional adulting.

And while I don't want to saddle my kids with the burden of parenting me, I do want to teach them:

How to hold the space for others to heal.
How to be there for each other even when things hurt.
How to be unafraid of their feelings.
How to be courageous in the face of adversity.
How to love with all they've got.

And big love is hard.

But it's all we've got.

So where does that leave us with boundaries, oxygen masks, and Self-care practices?

I think it leaves us consciously calling out that our needs matter. Bringing attention to the Capital-S-Self whose care we are quick to neglect, and taking steps to build our reserves back up.

That might mean that the kids can wait for the 17th snack of the day if you haven't had a proper meal yet, or that you say no to volunteering for that charity event if you haven't had a good night's sleep in a while.

It might mean investing time in a hobby that you've been wanting to take up even if there isn't a financial return tied to it, or ending a maternity leave and going back to work earlier than you thought you would because you really miss your job.

Either way, your needs are as important as anyone else's, and putting your oxygen mask on first is the most important thing.

Because you're no good to anyone if you're out of O2 and PTFO.