Nowhere to Be, Nothing to Do
by Erika Lim, INELDA-educator
“Difficult situations cannot be resolved through denial and healing cannot happen through brute force. Moving through any difficult situation requires tenderness and vulnerability.”
—Sienna Gonzales, @somewhere_in_june
Healing cannot happen through brute force. This sentiment struck me. In the past, I have been intentional and a bit rigid with my practices of self-care. Meditation in the mornings and evenings, yoga classes three times a week, designated social time with friends, balanced meal prep for the week; everything was structured in order to pursue a visually well-balanced schedule. The color-coded boxes that signified various categories of projects/meetings/family/social/self-care were all measured in relation to each other. But just as routines go, my self-care started to become a checklist that added “to-dos” to the already long lists of to-dos. My pursuit of self-care stopped feeling like care. While the intention of discipline originated as tenderness for myself, it evolved into a feeling of healing through brute force.
Two to three years into the doula life and still figuring out “self-care,” I remember hearing a podcast with Jill Schock (Death Doula L.A.), and the host asked her how she cares for herself. She said (and I’m paraphrasing because I can’t find the episode), “After a client dies, sometimes I have to sleep for the entire day after.”
Hell yes.
My whole body felt a resounding hell yes upon hearing Jill say this. After a client dies, sometimes my whole being (mind, body, heart, soul) wants to go into pure hibernation mode. In fact, it wants no pressure to wake up—not even to eat, not even to pee. This kind of care was never permitted in my color-coded “well-balanced” schedule. The “self-care” block never exceeded two hours, let alone took up an entire day. It felt too luxurious, but listening to my body listen to Jill say this changed my entire understanding of self-care. My body had been asking for more, and I hadn’t paid attention to what it needed. It was asking for space. It was asking for no agenda. It was asking to be asked and not old.
I recently had a client who passed in the wee hours of the morning. I arrived after she had died, and we kept her body at home as per the wishes of her and the family for a few hours so we could offer prayers, wash her body, dress her, and keep her at home; friends and family could come, gather, share stories, and be in her presence. Once her family felt ready to call for transport, I assisted with that process, offered gratitude to the family for the time together, and left. It was a very full morning and afternoon.
I went to my car, sat quietly for a moment, buzzed and a bit disoriented, and looked in the mirror and said, “Whoosh. What do we do now?”
Normally, I may have gone straight to assessing basic needs or my color-coded list of to-dos (self-care and otherwise), but that day, I decided to try a different approach. Instead of telling myself what I needed, I asked and left space for listening, tenderness, and no particular outcome.
I’ve started calling it the “Nowhere to be, nothing to do” approach.
I asked myself, “Hey…there is nowhere that we have to be and nothing that we have to do. What is it you want to do right now?”
It took a bit of silence. As doulas, we understand the power of silence. I waited.
Then, I finally heard a response. “Space. Nature.”
Meeting Ourselves As We Meet Others
In death work, I’ve found myself selective about sharing details of the work right away with loved ones who are not in death work because it can be overwhelming or provoking if the timing and space is not right. With nature, I feel safe and sure that it is vast enough to carry whatever I am holding. So, I took myself to these beautiful gardens close to my home where I sat barefoot in a meadow and held old trees, knowing that in its infinite and unbound nature, it could hold me.
After a long walk in the gardens, I asked again, “Hey…there is no rush to be anywhere or do anything. What is it you want to do right now?”
The response was quicker this time. “Sushi!”
Hell yes. I took myself out to a local spot and relished in the nourishment of one of my favorite meals. The sensory experience itself was a delight; the lightness of the sushi offered a delicate yin to the full yang of the morning.
After I ate, I asked again, “Hey…there is nowhere to be and nothing to do. What is it you want to do right now?”
“Shower and sleep.”
A hot shower and a long nap ensued.
What would self-care look like if we met ourselves with tenderness and asked ourselves how we want to be cared for in the moment? What if we offered ourselves care in the same way we offer those we serve—without brute force or agenda but with presence and full-self listening? I recognize that “Nowhere to be and nothing to do” may seem luxurious, just like when I first heard Jill share. But perhaps consider what your body is saying to you as I tell you my own story.
If you ever find that your self-care routine has lost its quality of care, perhaps consider asking yourself tenderly, “Hey…there is nowhere to be and nothing to do; what is it you want to do right now?”
May you be surprised and delighted at what comes to the surface.