I remember it vividly.
I was attending an energized women’s leadership conference in Atlanta, and had just finished listening to an engaging keynote luncheon speaker. As I joined the audience in a standing ovation, the event facilitator named Anne stepped up to the podium, wearing a gorgeous pink tailored suit and fantastic flowered heels, with flawless hair and makeup. She made her gracious thank you’s to the guest speaker and reminded us of the packed afternoon schedule. Then, sent us off on a quick 15-minute break with the polite invitation, “As us proper southern ladies say, go tend to yourself!”
I was also entertained by her southern character and charm, though not altogether sure whether it was her true nature or just an act perfected over the years. So, when she made that simple suggestion, I laughed with the others and followed the pilgrimage to the ladies room.
It seemed reasonable and doable in the time allotted. I would stay focused. Stand efficiently in line, pay attention to the door that opens first, whip in as quickly as possible, then whip out to wash and dry the hands, glancing up at the mirror for a 5 second flick of the lip gloss and check for stray hair hanging on my shoulder or chest. Good to go – on to the next session.
Yet on this occasion, my routine was disrupted just long enough to reflect an honest view of my life in a profound way.
It started out innocently enough. While I was waiting in line, I thought about how clever Ann’s phrase was and smiled again.“Go tend to yourself.”
Briefly distracted; my turn was up, a door opened and duty called. Ah, a brief sigh of relief as I realized just how long I’d been ignoring my bladder. Enough time to replay her advice.
“Go tend to yourself.”
Maybe I had nothing better to do as I faced a non-descript wall of steel, or maybe because the habitual multi-tasker that I am couldn’t stand to sit and disengage my mind for one nanosecond.
Something about the phrase nagged at me. Like when you desperately know you should remember something, but can’t quite remember what you’re
supposed to remember, so it sits there buzzing around your sphere of my awareness until the subconscious pops it back into your consciousness in the nick of time.
All that was swirling around me as I exited the stall. The bright and always unflattering fluorescent lights at the sink woke me up from my daze. I was immediately brought back to task. Wash, rinse, dry – then reapply lip gloss.
My feet were half turned toward the exit with my mind locked on the afternoon session … yet something forced me to pause.
In an inexplicable instant, I looked up at the mirror and into the mirror. I caught my own eyes looking back at me. Not my eyes that see the flaws in my face, judge my untamed hair, admonish my faults, or swear at new pimples you thought were long gone after puberty.
It was the eyes within me begging to be seen – desperate to meet me again after years of neglect. These eyes were my inner lens of intuition, trust, and appreciation.
For a split second, those reflective eyes grabbed my own that appeared in the mirror and said quietly “I am still here.”
This sliver of time defied all movement, thought or distraction – revealing in an instant – a deeply ignored question. “Do you still see me?”
I walked slowly out of the bathroom, not quite sure what I just experienced. Was it real? Did I imagine this brief encounter? Was lunch lingering too long?
The answer was swift, clear, and gut wrenching. A realization that I had not “tended” to myself in a very long time.
“Go tend to yourself.”
I was forced to admit my gaze in the mirror has been slightly off for some time. I had been avoiding the gentle knowingness graciously staring back at me.
It was time to tend to my needs, my dreams, and my emotions rather than everyone else’s.
Yes, indeed. It’s time … to tend to myself.
