Nourishment and Satisfaction

How Rest Isn't What I Thought It Was

I have done all the right things this week, like fly in the face of toxic positivity, reshare memes of corporate jokes (I hope your email never finds me), go to therapy, take my Vitamin D- and still, my body again and again, pulls a Judas. It seems it wants a divorce from my brain, and it is not an amicable split. I can see her hair flip from here. She wants the house AND the car, ok?

When my body is in full revolt, my internal hostage negotiator is activated. We’re all right, darling, I coo. We will make all the appointments, get the answers we can, and show up accordingly. You just need to take some hot baths, watch some dumb reality TV, eat some ice cream and R*E*S*T.

This time has been different, landing me doubled over in urgent cares, at my general practitioner, staring at stock photos of smiling babies at GYN offices. Waiting for ultrasounds, debating antibiotic types, tossing the ER coin. I can’t take hot baths right now. Or eat ice cream (or much of anything, really). And the resting? It isn’t working. Firstly. I hate reality TV. I hate TV in general, to be honest and boring about the whole thing. ( I have ZERO judgement for anyone who needs to watch the Secret Lives of Mormon Wives to decompress, but miss me with all the drama. My blood pressure can’t take it.)

I have worked so hard to attempt to heal my innate desire to connect my worth with my output. I only realized as I wrote this how unsuccessful I have been. “I have worked so hard…”

But maybe I have the idea of REST all wrong.

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The pendulum of self-care swings in extremes; I have found myself caught in the crossfire one too many times. Is it cliche now for cold plunges and meditation? Is self-care an UberEats Kung Pow Chicken delivery or ingesting nothing other than an adaptogen (mushroom) broth and cold, mountain spring water? Do I need to throw my cellphone in the creek in the backyard and go strictly analog or hire a virtual assistant?

Perhaps I am the only one who dances too far left and right. Despite my deconstruction, my brain still loves to think in binaries- right, wrong. Yes, no. Good, bad. So on, so forth.

In my formative and restrictive years, all the way into my early thirties, I deprived myself of every good thing in order to become good. In my late thirties/early forties, I deprived myself of nothing and called the carnage payback- even if it was at my own expense.

In one, I was deeply missing nourishment.

In the other, I am deeply missing satisfaction.

I am finding the elusive third space at a snail’s pace. Mainly, because I’ve had to climb the travails of decades of trauma. But now, because my body has been too painful to do anything else.

Finding that rest, nourishment, and satisfaction don’t mean what I thought they did has been an unsettling discovery. What if, through my “healing”, I have been overriding the very system I was meant to listen to? Maybe REST, nourishment, satisfaction, or the way I refuel, restart, heal- can only come from making something beautiful.

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At the onset, it seems relatively fruitless to put a colored pencil to paper when children are being torn from their families and government representatives are assassinated. It seems audacious to re-work the last four measures of a concerto when babies are starving, bombs are flying, and everyone avoids saying W*A*R aloud. It seems dumb to pursue art when our bodies are failing and our country is burning.

But as good as AI is getting at crafting a compelling narrative, I’ll return to the authors I know over and over again because I know their words started as feet. I’ll walk around the Whitney museum and know the colors and shapes were carved from real joy and pain, to make me feel less alone. Vivaldi’s Winter will always be my favorite- the priest with the secret girlfriends and crippling asthma-can’t you hear the labored breathing (for all the reasons) in every measure? Did you have the pleasure of watching Heather Hedley in her run on Broadway as Aida in the early 2000’s sing, “The Gods Love Nubia” and dare to question whether there is a God who gives gifts? Have you eaten a perfectly seasoned bouillabaisse on a waterfront when the heat of the sun still stings your cheeks, but the breeze makes a sweatshirt that smells like the dock a necessity?

To create and experience something beautiful is essential for survival. To see it created to completion is the kind of rest this ailing body needs.

Perhaps it’s what yours needs, too.

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You may never think of cooking for yourself as self-care, and if that is the case, you are still welcome here. But in my quest to marry nourishment and satisfaction, it’s this recipe that makes it feel worthwhile to try- that something beautiful IS something nourishing.

Self-Care Chicken Thighs

4 Chicken Thighs

1 Lemon, sliced

Handful of Castelveltano Olives

3-4 chopped dates (optional, but it’s delicious and adds so much fiber)

1/2 tsp Sea Salt

1/4 cup Extra Virgin Olive Oil

Half of a Red Onion, sliced

2 garlic cloves, minced

1/4 cup of white wine or chicken broth

fresh parsley/chives

Sprinkles of: sea salt, oregano, cumin, tumeric, cumin, allspice, saffron- even rub a little harissa into the skin for some heat ( keep what you love, get rid of what you don’t.)

Rub the chicken thighs in the olive oil and spices of your choice in a bowl and set aside. Lay onion and lemon slices in a single layer at the bottom of a pyrex, reserving some for the top of the chicken. Add the chicken, then add the dates and olives. Bake for 35-45 minutes at 400 degrees, or until juices run clear and the meat falls right off the bone. Sprinkle the top with some fresh herbs and serve over saffron rice, or a simply crusty bread and bright green salad.