When Self-Care Stops Working

“Put your oxygen mask on first,” they say.

“Sure. Sure. Of course. Of course.” Box checked. Exercise regime humming. Journaling practice in place. Boundaries—well-established.

But…but…2025.

On December 31st, I might resurrect the Honduran tradition of “burning the old year.” Crafting a mannequin—always a man, for some reason—and setting it aflame to usher in the new. It seemed violent at the time. But now it feels just right.

I don’t know about your last year, but my 2025 deserves to be burned.

​El Mundo. (2020). La quema del tradicional “Año Viejo” [Photograph]. STN Honduras. https://stnhn.com/la-quema-del-tradicional-ano-viejo/

Friends, witnessing my 2025, say: “Elise, it’s been a year. Take care of yourself.” Sure. Sure. Of course. Of course.

But this morning, I realized I was tired. Deep-tired. Limbs heavy, brain fog thick. The kind of tiredness that comes after a day at the ocean—a day of drifting, rolling with waves under a brilliant blue sky. Then—without warning—a monster wave rises. Just enough for a quick moment of panic. You’re flung, twisted, sandy hair in your eyes, salt stinging your nose, swimsuit lodged in the wrong place. Out of breath.

Then—another wave. And another. And another.

The deluge finally slows. You take stock. The shore is too far. And besides, you’re carrying people with you. 

​You are always carrying people with you. 

So, what to do? 

“Just keep swimming,” Dori, the fish, once said. And so we do. Stroke. Breathe. Repeat. But we don’t realize how tired we are, how the joy of floating has slipped away. We are in danger of sinking - and we don’t ever realize it. And what about those we carry with us? 

Then a voice, distant, urgent: “Put your feet down!”

“What? Are you crazy? It’s so deep!”

“Just do it!”

For some reason I trusted the stranger and put my feet down into deep water. 
​
And there it was. A sandbar, far from shore. Relief coursed through me. Limbs loosened. Chest expanded. Exhale long and full. Self-care alone was not enough after the pounding. I needed solid ground. A moment to rest. To breathe. To gather strength before the waves came again.

(What does it mean to “Put Your Feet Down Into Deep Water”? To be continued…)