5/5/25 - Self-Care
You turned my whole world upside down.
Layla, you've got me on my knees.
Layla, I'm begging, darling, please.
Darling, won't you ease my worried mind?
Let's make the best of this situation
Before I finally go insane.
Please don't say "We'll never find the way"
And tell me that all my love's in vain.
When we bought her in May 2024, Layla’s previous owner told us that he loved the acoustic version of the Eric Clapton song “Layla” and he named the boat after that song. He also said that the lyrics very much rang true for him. There were times, he said, when he was crossing the Atlantic (which he did five times with her) when he was on his knees, begging her to hold together to keep him safe, when the waves were making the boat swing so violently that he literally felt like his “whole word turned upside down” with various objects flying around over his head. Then he assured us that she was a good strong boat and that she would always get us through. The way he looked at her…it was like she was his child. It was clear to us that he loved her fully for the thirteen years he had her until he married someone who easily got seasick. Then it was time for him to, very reluctantly, let her go.
We thought about renaming her. But, there is a lot of superstition when it comes to renaming boats. The “proper” way to do it comes with rituals involving lifting the mast up and placing a coin under the mast as a symbol to the boat that you will care for her and give her whatever she needs (“whatever she needs” = $$$). It’s also seen as a way to pay passage to the underworld and is done for good luck. I found this link if you’re curious and want to learn more: Click here.
June 1, 2024 - St. Augustine, FL - Full of hope and anticipation! We had just gotten the keys to Layla.
Interestingly, we met our first boat family since we left the dock last week in Ft. Pierce. They saw our boat and asked if we bought it in St. Augustine. What? Yes we did….? Apparently, they had looked at Layla and considered buying her. They said she was gorgeous—the perfect boat, but a bit too small for them as they have three kids. The husband was in a sailing class in St. Augustine when I popped into the marina building—and that sailing class—to grab Layla’s keys for the first time. This husband later told his wife that “the nicest family with two little kids just bought Layla!” Unknowingly, we ended up meeting them and connecting deeply over our respective boat sorrows last week (they were stuck, too). They even showed us photos of their family on our boat. What an incredible coincidence!
Of course, new boat owners can also skip these rituals—changing the name is technically just paperwork. But we discussed it as a family and we all liked the song (I prefer the original version—love that starting guitar lick!), didn’t want to go through all of the rituals and we didn’t want any bad luck on our side, so we kept the name.
While Eric Clapton originally wrote the lyrics for his mega crush, British model Pattie Boyd, (George Harrison’s then-wife and Eric Clapton’s soon-to-be future wife) and while Layla’s previous owner said lyrics would ring true, as I sit here reflecting on them now, I find it quite remarkable: the lyrics remain incredibly fitting.
*sigh* Greetings from The Garden Café in Webster Groves (a neighborhood of St. Louis), MO, one of my favorite coffeeshops in the world. Addie is off at Space Camp in Alabama and Steve and Sid are with Layla in Ft. Pierce, FL. I’m in St. Louis living with my parents.
Waving goodbye to Steve and Sid in Ft. Pierce. That was last week. As of this exact moment (3:48pm on 5/5) it is hailing hard in Florida and Steve is sending me audio files of how loud it is (and mopping up the water from where Sid’s hatches leaked)! Sheesh!
5AM on Sunday morning. Addie before she boards the bus to Space Camp.
We made it. Three weeks ago, I didn’t know how we were going to get Addie to Space Camp and now she’s there. We did it. Somehow. Thanks for your prayers and positive thoughts.
Now I’m trying to wrap my head around everything…and I mean everything. Let’s see, three weeks ago today I wrote the “Dreams of My Dresser” post and was desperately longing for a sense of “home.” That seems like a lifetime ago. I’m not saying I don’t still feel those same feelings, it’s just that so much “life” has happened in those 21 days. Sooo (!!!) much life. It’s hard to believe that that was only three weeks ago.
I have so much to tell you, friends. And yet, I’m in a very interesting place mentally and emotionally. For the first time in a long time (years?) I have time and space to myself. And I know I have a lot to unpack and process from the last six months. This is evident from direct and clear statements from the licensed therapist I just left 30 minutes ago: “Oh my gosh, Holly, this is devastating—there are so many layers to this!” to more unexpected awkward, shrinking moments like when Addie’s orthodontist, in an attempt to create a plan of action for Addie’s teeth, gently and very reluctantly asked me “I mean….do you know what your life plans are at this point…?” to which I welled up like a faucet and blubbered my way through the rest of the conversation (thank you, Ms. Dental Hygienist, for the tissues.) FYI - Current plan for Addie’s teeth: Do nothing. They’ll call us in six months.
In short, more has gone wrong on the boat in the last few weeks. Before we scattered, all four of us promised that we would each do all we could to press our respective “reset” buttons. This is our whiteboard on the boat.
*sigh* I’m a mess these days, friends. A true mess. And I know I’m a mess. While yesterday I didn’t know what to do with myself, but the “right” path eventually unfolded (hmmm…lesson?), today, I have a general idea of a loose plan for the week: let it out. Do whatever I need to do to let the emotions and negativity surface and LET IT OUT. Bless and release it! Squeeze it ALL out. Push it out. Journal it out. Music it out. Walk it out. Read it out. Paint it out. Pray/Meditate it out. Talk it out. Weird it out. Sweat it out. Get out! Out! Out! OUT OF ME! My sadness and negativity and grief (I’m GRIEVING!) over the vision I/we had for our family and our boat life needs to be tended to. I need to look at it head on—I see you, Grief—and let the emotions explode out of me whenever/wherever/however they need to so that I can get out of my funk and MOVE FORWARD. Slow down to speed up. Come on in, Grief. Sit down. Let’s have a cup of coffee…. (For the rest of you: approach with caution!)
My go-to: A journal and a chai latte. Always.
I am picturing Diane Keaton’s character in the movie “Something’s Gotta Give” (love that movie!) when she is crying and crying and crying and crying and writing and crying and writing and crying and then she finishes her tragic love story play with a triumphant close of her computer and a big “YES!” While clearly I’m not as cool as Diane Keaton, I sooo relate to that character and her way of processing through emotions (not to mention her completely awkward and cringy authenticity and vulnerability…I have that, too, for better or worse).
*** It’s so weird. In my experience, once you give yourself permission to let it out, you already feel better. And I do feel better than I did yesterday. And I feel better than I did this morning. And….I also know that feeling better is not linear. It is not a step forward-forward-forward-forward process. It is a forward-backward-forward-forward-backwards-backwards-forward-backwards-sideways process. At least it is for me.
My therapist saw me in the waiting room this morning and she just looked at me with surprise (what are you doing here?) and gave me a hug. When we got into her room I said, “how much do you know?” She said “I know nothing since you saw me before you left in December.” Right. *chuckle* “Well, we’ve had some setbacks….”
After several minutes of releasing my emotional volcano, she sat there, mouth agape and said “oh, my gosh, this is absolutely devastating and there are so many layers to this!”
Yes. Layers. So many layers. I told her that I made a list of potential topics to tackle in our session because I always want to make the most of my time (Ha. That—my intense desire to “make the most of my time”—is, in of itself, a HUGE layer for me. More on this later.). I joked that I was already proud of myself for setting a realistic expectation that I wasn’t going to be cured of my sadness during our one-hour session. Go me. Progress.
My mom pointed out last night that I don’t have any responsibilities this week. I don’t have to be a mom, a wife, even a daughter. I just need to take care of myself. Oh, here come the tears……don’t push them down, Holl…remember, LET IT OUT! It’s been so long since I’ve had time and space to take care of myself. REALLY take care of myself and rest. Not many people have an opportunity like this….it’s a true gift. So I will take it and be grateful. Instead of feeling guilty about ignoring my “shoulds” (I should go to the work meeting, I should be spending time with my parents, I should be creating a homeschool plan) I will be selfish and care for myself in order to heal and make myself whole so that I can be a better (better? No….healthier) healthier person. By being healthier, I can better (yes…better) care for myself and thus care for others.
In the last few years, I have gained a great appreciation for walking labyrinths.
Whoa. I just had a memory pop up out of nowhere. Here we go: I was living in San Diego, CA and working for an organization that worked for homeless and street kids. AmeriCorps*NCCC (a recent and absolutely infuriating casualty of DOGE) had given me the “change the world!” bug and I moved to CA to start my “change the world” career. I was 22 years old and getting paid $16/hour at my first “real” nonprofit job while also side hustling as a Starbucks barista for the rest of my waking hours to try to make ends meet. I was the administrative assistant to the CEO. I worked in a dark office that was only lit by the large ground floor windows (CEO = “turning the lights on = too expensive”) and working side-by-side with my co-worker, John* (*not his real name), one of the street kids that the CEO had hired to work in the office to write grants (even though John didn’t finish grade school and couldn’t write or spell well and subsequently the grants were constantly denied…but I digress). I will spare you the details and simply say that it wasn’t a good fit professionally. Plus, I randomly found out in 2023 that my former boss recently served time in jail. I knew it wasn’t a good fit for me, but I never suspected that. Talk about a gut punch. For more click here.
Anyway, while I was hustling my life away trying to make ends meet (didn’t have a lot of time for that “learn to surf” thing that I moved to CA for), I would go back to my apartment after routinely working two jobs in a day and worry endlessly about John and the other kids I knew personally, who were sleeping on the streets that night and imagine what they were going through. I had a daily front row seat to their pain and struggles… and to their kindness and humanity. And I felt soooo guilty, so privileged, that I had a roof over my head, a bed and food to eat. Why am I so lucky to have all of this? It was not—at all—a good emotional fit for me. (That was when I learned that I couldn’t work on the program side of a nonprofit. Fundraising = still “changing the world” but one step removed from the day-to-day mission work of the program side.) I was searching for guidance on what to do and went to church on one random Sunday. The priest, when he started his homily (I still get goosebumps just thinking about it) took a deep breath and said to the congregation: “If God could come down from heaven and tell you one thing today, it’s that you need to take care of yourself before you can take care of other people.”
I burst into quiet tears. Absolutely sobbing in the pew. I couldn’t stop no matter how embarrassing it was. My whole body was shaking. The two women sitting in front of me, one in her 30s and one in her 60s, turned around and gave me a tissue with a silent look that said “after this, we will talk!” After mass, they immediately turned to me and asked me what was wrong. After hearing the first part of my story, they insisted that I get into their car (stranger danger?) and join them for breakfast on Coronado Island. The older woman’s name was “Nan” and she was with her daughter. Over a super luxurious outdoor breakfast of omelets and coffee (especially luxurious for me at that time –I could barely afford the basics), they listened to my dilemma and vehemently convinced me that I needed to find another job (Nan: “Oh hell no, you are not going back to that job…I’m not going to let (!) you go back to that job….!” ). I took that as God’s guidance and a few months later, I had another permanent job. But the lesson—you have to take care of yourself before you take care of other people—that lesson, well, that still rings true today. Even though I forget it sometimes. In this very moment, it sounds so selfish. And yet….it’s not. It’s vital.
So here I am. Taking care of myself. What does that look like? I have to really think about it.
Tears. A LOT of tears. In my case, typically, tears mean that a lesson is being learned and growth is happening. Plants need water to grow and they release oxygen. A “Holly Swift” releases a lot of “water” and breaths in oxygen when she grows. *chuckle* And the universe is in balance. Glad I can help. I’m definitely growing. I don’t like it but I’m growing.
So what are the layers, Holl? What are you going to dive into this week?
--Grief and sadness over boat plan. What specifically are you grieving, Holl? List it out, acknowledge it and release it.
--Feeling lost/disoriented/disconnected/lack of sense of belonging/feel like an outsider - Lack of a plan for our family, uncertainty of our current world, relationships, dynamics
--The road less traveled by/carpe diem-ing/wasting time/my personal weirdness
--An attempt to be objective about what is actually wrong with/broken on the boat at this point and the scale and implications of those issues
--How did we get here? A revisiting of our goals for this adventure.
--Capstone: Lessons learned & the good that has already come from this horrible/wonderful adventure-within-an-adventure
I can feel the other side of myself, my positive/optimistic side, typically my more dominant side, popping up like the plastic moles in a whack-a-mole arcade game. I can see flashes of all of the good that has/is/will come out of all of this “bad” and disappointment. To self: And there will be a time for you, my dear Optimistic and Positive Side of Myself. But right now, we’re giving Grief the floor. You’ll get your turn—I promise. Please be patient and wait in the waiting room for now. And make some notes like I know you will. I like you a lot better so you’ll come out on top. But right now, we have to eat our vegetables…
Grief….hello there, please have a seat and talk to me….
(Yep, folks. I’m personifying my emotions. Welcome to my crazy. Cue: Greatest Showman’s “This is me.”)