Look up

The ceiling needs attention just like I did. 

Now that I have the ritual of bathing each night after the boys are in bed, and writing while I soak, I suppose it’s time to share the love and repair our ceiling.  

I can see a crack that’s opened like a wound with brittle edges and a mysterious core.  

Freckles of mold. I should turn the fan on every time I shower, but I don’t. The loud humming disrupts the small pleasure of a shower. 

I should’ve painted the ceiling years ago when we painted the bathroom just before Noah was born. But I didn’t. The idea of painting it felt completely unnecessary at the time. 

In a way, the ceiling is a reflection of my carelessness. That same carelessness that had me in survival mode without any self-care rituals. With a loss of self. I was neglected and falling part.

I’ve cut corners and I’ve lacked discipline. Both of which I’m trying to get better at.  

I wonder what it would feel like to have the bathroom completely finished—tiles framed, ceiling painted, cupboards organized, everything always in a state of clean?  


To be honest, I had no idea what self-care really meant to and for me until a few months ago when I chose to pause my art business to focus primarily on caring for my two children.

I can now say that self-care, for me, is much much more than a pedicure and a face mask.

It’s knowing what your body needs and making it a priority. It’s asking for help when you need it. It’s saying no to commitments when I already have way too much on my plate. It’s creating boundaries between work, family, and friends.

It’s creating anchors that ground me and give me stability when I feel like I'm in survival mode.

It’s building in rituals of self-care that make me feel good, allow me to reflect, provide solitude, and encourage self-growth and peace. Which, ultimately, helps me and everyone around me.