Sandra Marianne Oberdorfer
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Thoughts on Self-Care

5/31/2018

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Today I was ten minutes late for a foot massage appointment which doesn't sound like much, but it had a ripple effect that gave me pause to think more deeply into why I experience self-care as one of the most radically important things we can do for ourselves (and consequently for others).

I injured my foot a few years ago and periodically it flares up to the point where I just limp all over the place. I was late to my appointment, but I was actually on time....you see, I had parked and was in the car outside the reflexology clinic but I was distracted from getting out of the car, preoccupied because I was sucked in and responding to another person's experience of anxiety. I walked into the clinic, apologetic and taking responsibility for the tardiness. The clinic manager told me (kindly) that he'd have to reduce the amount of time I had today because he had another appointment directly after mine. I couldn't receive the full massage. It was totally fine, and I replied, "Yes, of course, that makes sense. My apologies again for being late."

Without meaning to, as soon as the therapist began tears started silently streaming down my face. Not happy, not sad, but just a deep acknowledgement of how easy it is to get swept into another's experience, to take on another's pain, to forget to make room for one's own healing. Tears fell in gratitude, too, that I was here in this moment breathing air and just being. Gratitude that I can afford this, and gratitude that they offer these reflexology treatments at a price that is manageable. Gratitude, knowing that this would bring me relief and the limping would subside.

The sweet therapist went and got a blanket and a box of tissues, which I accepted. It was hard to express that I wasn't sad, per se, but primarily just grateful to let everything go for this moment.

As is true for many of you, the jobs I've taken on and served in have had 'Understands and Provides Self-care' as an unlisted job skill requirement. Indeed, I've sat through interviews (on both sides of the table) both asking the question of an applicant as well as answering as an interviewee.

"How do you manage self-care?" It continues to be one of the most revitalizing questions out there.

For obvious reasons (hello, patriarchy!), culturally we just can't proudly list Excellent at Self-Care on resumes when applying for jobs, as we tend to dismiss or undervalue our ability to nurture ourselves in a culture that increasingly seeks to dehumanize our spirit. But, this is precisely why taking care of ourselves is revolutionary; a great way to 'stick it to the Man' is to understand on a cellular level that our existence has inherent value as it is, in totality, and is utterly deserving of our care.

It occurred to me that I don't often share in concrete specific ways how I internally process information as it relates to self-care. To me, it's more of a process to check in with myself internally, and less about 'going hiking' or 'being in nature' (although these are all nurturing activities that I love.)

As I sat there, I started a list. These are strictly from my perspective; if you find resonance, great! If not, then feel free to take what is useful for you.

Here are some thoughts in no particular order of importance:

1. In my experience, self-care isn't about longevity, although that's a positive boon if it happens. Self-care isn't about avoiding physical danger or emotionally triggering scenarios. It is on a very deep level about taking personal responsibility for my emotional, physical, mental, and spiritual well being. It is looking inward for validation as my biggest nurturer, caregiver, promoter, and supporter. It's understanding and accepting the support of others when it is given freely, but not relying primarily on outside support to manage pain as it arises for me. If I'm relying for the majority of emotional support on outside validation, then I know it's time to slow down and refuel.

2. As a white woman living in this time and in this region, self-care means bringing to awareness the unconscious biases I've inherited and that I operate within. This can and is emotionally uncomfortable, but in the bigger picture it is absolutely integral to healing. My status as a white woman both protects me via systematized brute force (via government protection) and also paradoxically renders me subject to verbal, sexual, and physical assault (via misogynistic violence). I am both a protected class and a vulnerable class, and self-care for myself and others means learning to tell the difference, because lives other than my own are at stake if I don't invest the time to learn. Self-care for me, on the deepest level as it relates to community building, involves cultivating a mindset that doesn't reflexively rely on calling the police first before exhausting other routes towards community well-being and safety.

3. Self-care isn't about 'Mommies who Drink Wine' or any other such catchphrase that over-validates the victimhood of feminine responsibility, motherhood, and caregiving behaviors. It takes effort to let go of the victimizing energy that being "stressed out by it all" brings but the payoff is a better and more complete sense of life balance.When I find myself saying to myself, "AAAH! I'm too busy! I can't do it all!!!!" I practice instead saying, "My life is full," and most times that's enough to reduce my emotional response. If "My life is full," still feels overwhelming, then I know it's time to slow down and re-prioritize my perceived 'to do list.'

4. Oddly enough, letting go of the need to Save the World opens up a lot of emotional space and energy. White Savior behavior, based in the same constructs that fuel white supremacy, paradoxically creates an emotional cycle that only depletes and rarely contributes directly to community building in a lasting manner. We are in relationship with the world; it doesn't need saving. Saving something is one-sided and full of ego. It's exhausting. The world asks us to be in relationship; to love it and nurture it in an active way.

5. Self-care isn't about avoiding death or grief. In my experience, it's about inviting the reality of death into awareness as a natural part of the life cycle. Dehumanizing violence and negligence is not a natural part of the life cycle, and I'll continue to work in this lifetime to create healthier communities for people to exist in. But death is a part of us and is embedded in our core as embodied beings. It is change; it is life; it is hard; it is painful; and it is one of the most beautiful transformations that highlights our spiritual lives in ways that no other life change can. When we can be emotionally and spiritually present with those we care about in the aging and death process, we are giving the world a gift of awareness that simultaneously gifts us with an expansion of our capacity to experience our full range of emotions. It's like exercise for the heart; we become stronger in the workout.

6. And this is one I'm learning in wonderfully heart openings ways from the current people I work with who have very little yet are often very giving....in my experience and in my observation of others, self-care is about nurturing generosity as a gift (but not as a demand). When people over demand from me, I can shut down and grow crusty with negative emotions of feeling overwhelmed. But, when I observe generosity, or when I am able to provide generously with no expectations in return, then the effects are exponentially rewarding. Community building is based in offering and in receiving, and self-care involves learning how to participate in both.

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The Most Beautiful Place in the World

5/16/2018

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I am the granddaughter of a woman who was in the Hitler Youth. That's neither here nor there, and I'm not particularly interested in publicly defaming her memory today. She was still a grandmother, decidedly not Richard Spencer-like and you probably wouldn't have punched her if you'd have met her; she cooked dinner, washed laundry, and like many German women tacitly participated in the sort of mundane everyday culture that ultimately dehumanizes then murders difference. Her daily life was remarkably similar to the daily lives of many Americans.

She wasn't evil. She didn't cower in the dark recesses of human consciousness. She was my grandmother. Racism, and the structures that uphold it to reinforce fear and resource hoarding, are rendered invisible when paired with seemingly benign daily routine. It is by changing our habits and our internal thought processes that we're able to individually address the racial biases that overall contribute to systemic abuse.


Growing up and in my professional sphere I've worked to expand how we can encounter ethnic and religious difference in ways that celebrate the complexities of human experience. When it comes to the politically charged topic of Israel, I've kept a distance, remaining silent because I default to doing work within my own community where I live to help people feel safe and heard rather than focusing on a country that is on another continent. I know in large part it is my family history that shapes my reserve: there truly is very little reason to add my thoughts to an already murky stew of conflicting thought and opinion. It's not easy, and I've lost friends over this effort to remain neutral.

But, this morning I received a message from a friend which served as a reminder that within this community there are cultural overlaps that by their very nature include the struggles of conflict in other regions. He asked why there hasn't been a more solid response of rebuke and condemnation by Jewish leadership to the massacre in Palestine Israel, which occurred on the cusp of the major Muslim holiday of Ramadan.

I cannot speak on behalf of others, but his straightforward and stern message calling me out on my own silence is taken to heart.

A few years ago I visited Israel for a conference, and not surprisingly I fell in love with the confluence of world culture within Jerusalem. Amusingly, it wasn't even on my radar that Christians love the area until I sat next to one on the plane who'd already made the trip multiple times. Up until that moment I'd primarily focused on Jerusalem as a site contested between two Abrahamic expressions, Judaism and Islam, but not until I listened to the woman excitedly tell me of all the pilgrimage spots she'd be traveling to did it belatedly dawn on me how many people feel a deep personal connection to this land regardless of what passport they hold. Jerusalem truly is a world site. Regardless of which political body pretends control of it, the site remains sacred on a global scale. Nobody can claim it because everybody claims it.

And, of course, it isn't only the three major Abrahamic traditions who call the area home. Bahá'í, Bedouins, Druze, Kemetic pagans, atheists, Samarian Roma, and more also worship in the region according to their inspirations. When in the Old City, I watched Korean Christians lie prostrate in the Holy Sepulchre and I visited the courtyard of an Ethiopian Coptic church. I walked the streets with a Mizrahi Jewish tour guide whose family came to Israel after being expelled from Iraq decades ago. He took me to a rooftop and pointed out the wall in the distance separating people from one another. He was not proud of the wall. I passed a memorial to the Armenian genocide. When I stood with other women and put my hand on the surface of the Kotel, I felt the electric buzz of centuries spinning through my veins and I couldn't find the words to explain the euphoria until I sat with my eyes closed only to open them and see a white dove perched by a chair, breathing its peace.

Israeli culture is uniquely an amalgam of world cultures coalescing in one geographically tight area. Yemeni, Iraqi, Moroccan, Tunisian, Polish, Russian, Turkish, American, French, Ugandan, and Ethiopian Jews hold passports. The list goes on and on. I saw a reconstruction of an Indian Synagogue next to a reconstruction of a Dutch Sephardic Synagogue. To call the country names like 'Israhell' does a gross disservice to the creativity with which multiple cultural expressions manage to live together with limited resources.

And, adding to all of this are the Palestinian people who are not only denied access to this sacred city but are denied easy access to basic resources like water. During my short time there I also saw multiple checkpoints, numerous machine guns, and long unnecessary lines for families to get from A to B on their daily routine.

One of my longest and most meaningful conversations happened with a man in the courtyard of the Al Aqsa mosque, who was proselytizing on behalf of Islam. He spoke English, and spent his days with his fellow co-religionists chatting with tourists and handing out free Korans. We talked a long time. There was no reason for him to give me as much of his time as he did, but honestly I wanted to stay on the platform as long as I could and so welcomed the conversation. The winter sun was shining just perfectly over everything, a women's group was studying Koran under a nearby awning, and awed tourists were snapping selfies before being shuffled off by the guards tasked with keeping the flow of people moving along.

At one point I said to him in all awe and sincerity, "You live in the most beautiful place in the world. You truly are lucky to live here." And, he agreed. But, before he nodded his agreement, I saw a small flicker of another emotion, a nanosecond of despair and sadness that he couldn't conceal. Yes, he lived in the most beautiful place in the world and yes he was lucky to be there every day but yet he could only live as a visitor in an area his family had likely lived for countless generations. Was it luck to be placed in bodily danger every day by an exclusionary government? What does luck mean in this context? Unlike the millions of people who travel thousands of miles to stand where he does, he breaths the sacredness every day. And, he shares the beauty of his religion every day with those able to listen. In that sense it is truly a lucky life, regardless of bodily harm. And, yet, there are those who would claim he ought not to be allowed to participate in his own lived experience; they'd rather dismiss him as a terrorist or a fanatic. We talked awhile longer, and I almost signed a conversion statement but confessed to him that I would have mostly signed it primarily so that I could see inside the beautiful mosque (which is only available to adherents of Islam). That didn't feel like an honest reason to sign a statement of belief, and he understood my position. I didn't commit to a new religion that day, but I did expand my library with the English language Koran he gave me.

When I look at pictures of the embassy dedication ceremony this week, I see none of the cultural vibrancy that marks the city life in Jerusalem. I see no evidence of the efforts to coexist that people of myriad cultures expend to live together while often uncomfortably navigating an intentionally striated and racially biased social hierarchy. I see none of the collective sacred energy that has transformed this tiny map dot into the global center that it is. I see none of this, but I do see the same sort of *mundane everyday culture that ultimately dehumanizes then murders difference* that characterized the normalcy of everyday racism influencing my grandmother's early life during the Hitler Years. I can't not see it. I don't know any Jewish Americans who approve of this new embassy, and yet here it now stands mowing down the efforts of people to acknowledge the humanity of Palestinians who live in the region and deserve recognition. To kill and injure so many people is an inhumane act of racism and religious intolerance. My heart goes out to those touched by the tragedy.

We can find grounding in the notion that as humans we are entitled to a relationship with the earth and elements under our feet. I'm not talking about ownership or  submission, but relationship. We live with some portion of our body connected to the earth at all times, and it is our spiritual birthright to live in connection with the air, water, earth, and fire that sustains us. To foster and nurture that relationship, we must gain understanding of the indigenous and ancestral relationships experienced by the people of the areas where we live, and to treat these relationships with the sacred respect they deserve. This is true whether our feet are rooted in Oregon or in Palestine or in Israel. When we treat the land beneath our feet as sacred, then all places become The Most Beautiful Place In the World.

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