I played hooky and snuck away to a nearby lake one Friday with my husband this past summer. We had just dipped our toes into July. The sun was finally starting to make a regular appearance in Montana. Our winters are long. When it’s time to thaw out,
you don’t wait.
We packed up the paddle board, blankets, books, a charcuterie spread, chicken skewers, and a disposable grill to cook them on that was more fun than it probably was good for our health. We spent the day on the water, beside the water, in the sun, in the shade eating, reading, napping - resting and digesting alongside so many others who had the same idea.
Towards the end of the day, after most people had left, a woman pulled up to the picnic spot next to ours. She was alone. I noticed her because she got out of her car, placed a candle on the picnic table, struck a match, and lit it - and it wasn’t a citronella candle to keep the bugs away. It felt ritualistic.
Then, she unpacked a jug of water, a blanket, a camp chair, a very large book, and a bag of chips. She plopped down in the chair, kicked off her Chacos, wrapped the blanket around her legs, ripped open her bag of chips, and reached in the bag eating one after another without what seemed like a literal fuck to give.
Instantly - and naturally, I liked her.
She opened her book and began reading, flipping page after page with her salty fingers. A squirrel started inching its way over as squirrels do when you have a bag of chips. “Shoo! Get out of here!” she assertively said as she defended her picnic spot by waving her hand in the air like she was putting up a force field.
In the short time I had observed her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she had that power.
After about an hour or less, she began to pack up as we packed up. She picked up her candle with one hand and grabbed her trash with the other, carefully making her way to the dumpster like she was walking while holding an egg in a spoon. When she got there, she carefully set the candle down on the ground, opened the dumpster, threw out her trash, and then picked it back up and walked back to her picnic spot.
I caught her glance as I was admiring her and a warm smile spread across her face.
And again, she grabbed her jug of water, blanket, camp chair, and her larger-than-life book one by one with one hand while she carried her candle in the other, carefully setting it down on the ground next to her car every time she loaded the next item in.
When everything was packed, she blew out the candle, got in her car, and drove away.
I heard a story recently about a woman who went to lunch with her friends. The waiter brought a dessert tray around and she asked him if there were any non-dairy items on the tray. The waiter replied, “No,” and she said, “Okay. I’ll pass.”
Immediately her friends jumped in with apologies because there was nothing she could have. “I’m so sorry. Do you want me to ask if they have anything else?” asked one of them.
The woman responded by saying, “No, sorries. It’s self-sovereignty. It’s for the good of the realm.”
I have a sneaky suspicion that the woman at the lake was doing what was good for the realm.
Like the woman who went to lunch with her friends, I can’t have dairy either - or gluten, a smorgasbord of other foods, and especially not sweet potatoes. People who haven’t seen me in a while or who haven’t eaten or grabbed coffee with me in a while hear me express my dietary constraints and they ask me, “Is this new?”
I started 2020 with raging cystic acne that came out of nowhere and an overwhelming feeling of constant uncomfortability of being in my body that was years in the making. By March, the pandemic felt like a godsend (before we knew what it all meant) as the perfect excuse not to have to go out in public. And when I had to, I could hide my swollen and splotchy cheeks behind a mask.
It literally hurt to smile.
I spent my 26th birthday in tears. Every year on my birthday I take a self-portrait, but that year I took a picture of my shadow. When my wedding was still on the books, I wasn’t even sure I could go through with it. And when it was canceled, I wasn’t sure I could elope.
That was not how I wanted anyone (including myself) to remember my face.
It turns out a severe gut imbalance, inflammation, and not having the right skincare routine with the right ingredients will do it. Many weeks of IV treatments and extractions, supplements, and lifestyle changes later, I felt good from the inside out for the very first time. I didn’t know just how bad things were; how miserable I was and for how long, until I started healing.
It took a. lot. of. work. to get here.
Emerging back into the world post-pandemic with these new instructions for my care has been challenging, but it’s also taught me a thing or two about holding boundaries. It’s funny how when you tell some people that it physically hurts and harms you to eat something, they somehow think it’s negotiable (and don’t get me wrong, sometimes I decide that it is negotiable; that it’s worth it - but that’s my decision to make). It’s funny how some people are much more accepting when you say that you just don’t like something instead. It’s so easy to get caught up in explanations and oversharing so others can understand; so they don’t think you’re being picky, high-maintenance, or that something more serious is going on.
But now I express my self-sovereignty and tell people: It’s for the good of the realm. And the questions stop there.
For the past year, I’ve been expressing my self-sovereignty, doing what’s good for the realm in every realm. Last Christmas was the first Christmas I didn’t go home to my parent’s house. I’ve worked out for 55 weeks straight. I stopped drinking in June and I haven’t looked back. I learned how to nourish my body and I go to bed as early as possible. It’s all for the good of the realm.
It’s for the good of the realm that I stick to my skincare routine, as extensive as it is, day and night.
It’s for the good of the realm that I take my vitamins and supplements every. single. day.
It’s for the good of the realm that I take a nap when I need to.
It’s for the good of the realm that every once in a while I kill an evening wrapped up like a burrito on the couch eating snacks and immersed in a British crime drama.
It’s for the good of the realm that I walk away when things get heated, when a relationship isn’t serving me anymore, or when I’ve simply changed my mind.
It’s for the good of the realm that I move my body every. single. day.
It’s for the good of the realm that I get outside.
It’s for the good of the realm when I decide to stay home and when I decide to show up.
It’s for the good of the realm that I decide what’s good for me and honor it. I am the expert when it comes to my needs mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically.
It’s for the good of the realm that I sometimes sneak away on a sunny Friday.
It’s for the good of the realm that I
write.
Tell me, what do you do for the good of the realm?
Love it Meg! Makes me realize I don’t have to apologize for taking care of myself when I need to. You my girl are an amazing writer❣️I can picture everything you write in my mind! I love you❤️❣️