Treat Yourself

25th November 2018

“Every day, once a day, give yourself a present; don’t plan it, don’t wait for it, just let it happen.” 

This is what my newfound fictional crush covertly advised to me. Agent Cooper, from Twin Peaks, was referring to a cup of coffee at a seemingly inconvenient time. I basically took it as the ever prevalent self care tip taught by Instagram, counsellors, and anybody who hasn’t quite figured out a sense of balance.  

“Treat yourself.”

Now, I’m no influencer, nor do I counsel, and I may only be a little off balance, but I feel like I can genuinely say it’s actually a good concept. I practice it daily. The extent of my wardrobe is testament to that; and the number of times I’ve impulse ordered Chinese on a school night speaks volumes on how easily applicable it is to your everyday life. “Treat yourself!” I say to myself, as I hang up the phone to Li Garden. 

These are just two of my own personal go to’s.  I obviously have less expensive ones, like painting my nails or taking a nap. But I feel like that’s the beauty of it, there are so many ways to treat yourself; and not one of them is necessarily the absolute way to do it. I mean, I hear of people going out to buy organic kale, just to give themselves a little somethin’ somethin’. I don’t get it, but I’m not going to tell them that their kind of “treat yourself” is wrong; because in all honesty, treating yourself is just a means to loving yourself. And if organic kale is the way to someone’s own heart, well, then let them at it.  

Because for each heart there is out there, there are going to be a million more ways to tap into it; and once you’ve realised how to do just that for yourself – a billion doors open. 

Let me elaborate. 

Treat yourself, to me, has meant discovering the little things that make me tick. I’m talking about the little micro-preferences I have in my everyday life: from my favourite colour (pink), to my favourite kind of sweet (doughnuts), even down to my favourite pair of socks (the ones with giraffes on them). Likewise, when something just doesn’t do it for you. I.e. mandarins. I don’t like mandarins. 

I’m definitely the kind of person to who is prone to being overexcited about everything, but I daresay these are the sorts of things we take for granted. Could you imagine how much better an otherwise yucky day would be if you’d just wear your favourite undies? What if you took only ten minutes for a random Sudoku break at work? Perhaps a kind word for yourself in the mirror before you go out each morning; or simply saying “no” to the boy you don’t like.

You know what I mean? It’s these very small, yet very revolutionary, acts that have taught me to ever so slowly learn about the woman, the human, that I am; which is an especially remarkable thing for someone who lost their sense of self for so long. The tiny things I decided to do for myself lead to a greater understanding of myself, and with that greater understanding came a special kind of empathy. 

Empathy is the willingness to put yourself in someone else’s shoes; no matter the colour of their skin, their sex, gender, orientation, where they live, why they live there, their ancestry, their hopes and dreams, pineapple on pizza or not. Empathy is this amazing super power that allows you to see the world from another’s perspective. It’s not always the easiest thing to do, trust me. I work in retail. But the most powerful thing about empathy is that once you have it for anybody: there is absolutely no way on earth that you cannot experience unconditional love.

Do you see where I’m going with this? 

What I’m getting at is that once you’ve begun to understand even the minutest details of yourself, even if it’s just your coffee of choice, you’ve well and truly started to empathise with your own being. And once you’ve done that, wham bam whoolio, unconditional self-love is closer than you think.

Isn’t that nice? 

To be able to tap into those heartstrings of yours to make your own life sing. I think that’s really exciting. To know that treating yourself can grow into loving yourself is something I wish everybody could adopt; because it’s something that manifests even broader than just saying, “you look fine today!” in the mirror. Unconditional love means redefining your own boundaries, and having the courage to say when something is or isn’t right for you. It’s creating and then knowing your own worth. Once you know your worth, you begin to stand up for it; and when you begin to stand up for your worth, you’re the one who grows stronger in spite of whatever else the world might throw at you. 

I’m not saying it's easy; it requires bravery, you’ll hurt a lot, you’ll scar pretty bad, and loving yourself will require smashing, moving in and around immovable obstacles. Trust me, I fall over heaps. 

What I am saying though, is that treating yourself is worth it, because it’s the most practical way for anybody to know their own value. And once this specific brain muscle has been sufficiently worked, you’ll find you’re capable of treating yourself to all kinds of other exciting things. Much bigger exciting things; like university, or a career you’re passionate about, a house, the love of your life, travelling to far off places, overpriced organic kale if that’s what you’re into. 

So, please, please, please. Just go do the nice thing for yourself.   

Worth

9th November 2018

When I was small, I would go to auditions for commercials, TV shows and movies; I started going to acting classes; and I was taught about the industry, and what it would expect of me as a young woman in the years to come. I learnt that in order to be competitive in the industry, I needed to meet the right sorts of people; to be able to put my best, most virginally squeaky-clean, foot forward; and, I understood, that any worth I had, as an actress, would stem mostly from my appearance. Any talents I had would be considered an exciting bonus, so long as I looked the part.  

The industry is a game, you see; and while I’m fortunate enough to have spent not even a decade playing, I spent enough time in it for those rules to seep into my everyday life. I believed that any worth I had, as a human being, stemmed mostly from my appearance. I’d picked up that being blonde with long hair meant being the most beautiful; I’d ask the boys in primary school if they thought I was pretty in survey form; as I got older, I equated the greasy stares and inappropriate comments from old men as validation; and I was always fixated on my weight, eventually to a point where I’d become anemic and had developed amenorrhea. 

I was obsessed, and very unhealthy. But that’s just the industry.  

There was a time where all I would do was read. I was so voracious I was concerned I might turn into a bookworm (because kids take everything literally, bless). I was a smart, brave, and very intuitive girl; until all sorts of life layers became so heavy that those things weren’t given permission to breathe. I stopped reading, being smart, brave, and intuitive, only to focus on surviving and living out this compulsion to be beautiful. 

For the most part, I succeeded (if it's even something you can "succeed" in). There was a solid period where I had no idea what the fuck I was wearing, puberty was a bitch, and my haircuts were almost always questionable; but I knew I was attractive. I am conventionally attractive. I know how conceited that sounds (and, you know, let’s just say I am conceited); but women don’t go swanning through life oblivious to the kinds of attention we get. We are programmed to detect that shit. Or at least I have been. 

Looking back on it now, and unhealthy brain cognition aside, I’m pretty embarrassed by the way I prioritised appearance.

For example, when I was living in Wagga, I was doing a philosophy course at the university. I would also, occasionally, travel to Sydney for acting related things. At one point, I was asked to audition for a TV show, and at that same time I’d received a high distinction for one of my essays. I was more proud of being at an “acceptable” weight for the audition than I was for my academic achievement. Now, I understand and respect that all personal values are different. But, come on. That’s just silly. 

A lot of my personal values have shifted in the past two years (thank goodness), but, as much as I hate to admit it, I still place a majority my worth in the way I look. Sure, I let myself eat now and I don’t obsess over weight, I cut all my hair off and dyed it near black, sometimes I let my monobrow grow out, and choose to not wear makeup for whatever reason you want to hear: but if men aren’t looking at me on the street, asking me on dates, or if people aren’t telling me how pretty I am, I feel worthless. 

Yuck.

I’ve only realised this just recently, and feel very empty because of it. I’d put all of my eggs in one basket, and I’ve now decided those eggs are rotten and no good for me. I don’t have any eggs now. Well, I do. But I need to prove to myself that those are actually my eggs. 

Because I really want to be like the young doctor, not much older than I am, who came into work to buy thirty books. 

I want to be like my good friend, fluent in Danish, studying Journalism through distance whilst working two jobs. 

I want to be like my old school captain who just completed her Honours in Biomedical and Electrical Engineering.

I want to be like the French woman I met in New Zealand, who’s been travelling for eleven years. 

I want to be like my five-year-old self: a good reader, smart, brave, and very intuitive. 

These are the sorts of of worth that won’t fade by the time I turn thirty (film standards. Don’t worry, Mum, you’re still smokin’). These women don’t have expiry dates, rather a longevity that goes well and truly beyond their youth. These women have really good eggs, and no pooey industry is going to tell them otherwise. My Dad often says, “If you don’t like it, leave.” And so that’s what I’m doing: tapping out for good. Or at least until film and television properly values women for their brains and wit over their big lips and tiny tummies. I’ve been told that’s not going to happen though, so I’m just going to pick up my eggs and go be worthy somewhere else.