Self care- practice makes perfect

I am admittedly and unabashedly a social media junkie. Wake up- facebook. Can’t sleep? Twitter. Instagram for the interim. Hey, I have a desk job. A boring one at that. That’s neither here nor there.

For the past few years social media has slowly become my community news source. I believe it began for me with Trayvon Martin and reached its peak with Michael Brown. Twitter was where I was able to get the news the mainstream media didn’t give a flying fist of fury about reporting. Why? Because it didn’t align with their agenda. Another post, another day.

My tweeple became my sounding boards for my frustration and fear. Every so often a twitter beef or black twitter roast would pop up and distract us from the angst we all felt.

Then the stories became more frequent. More senseless. More names. More hasthags. More grieving families. I began to feel my morale not only slip but fall like an old lady on ice. I was consumed by the injustices my people were facing and the ignorance and hate my “fellow Americans” REALLY felt. Oh and meanwhile, life continued around me in the form of work and family. It started to take a toll on my mental and my physical.

Then the phrase “self-care” was tossed out. It wasnt a phrase I had heard before, but I liked it. It seemed the missing piece to the depression I had been prone to before. Self care. It was like someone had finally shared with me the secret to life. This was something I could share with the masses who were hurting like I was.

It’s as simple as unplugging from the things that bring you down, be it tv, social issues, social media and doing something for SELF. Something to uplift you. An activity that makes you smile or gives you that child like giggle. A walk in the park to simply appreciate the fact that you are HERE. Life is a gift. An unappreciated one mostly but a gift all the same.

Since my discovery (yes…I am Columbusing it) I have tried to implement it as often as I remember which these days is pretty scarce. I can’t watch every video. Read every story. They won’t find every missing child.  I have to separate myself from these stories at least twice a week. It’s in the back of my mind though and hopefully the closer it inches toward this forehead mole, the more I will practice what I am attempting to preach.

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