TGIF: I Got My Toes Touched (Patreon)

Hello and happy Friday, Patrons! How is everyone doing this week? We're on day 4 of the Grace n Goose solo extravaganza down in Palm Springs and as far as I can tell neither of us has lost our minds yet! Incredible. However, I did make an executive decision to finally invest in a new VR headset yesterday and QUICKLY remembered how stupid fun beat saber is so minds may begin to be lost in the near future! We'll see! Get those sweet, sweet drums ready for me Mr. Dragons, Imagine! *swat swat swat*

This week has been really nice so far. And I've realized that this little outing was actually more significant than I initially thought. At first it was mostly to get Goose out of our dust filled house. And also to give me a space to work on some writing. But, in the realization that I've never been down here alone in the seven years we've had this place, it suddenly became about being able to be with myself. Which, ironically for this introverted soul, has been harder for me to do in the last few years. I like being alone, but I hate being lonely. And sometimes one causes the other so I've never felt particularly confident in spending periods of time by myself. And if we really investigate that, it's probably why I started making content and ended up with a career on the internet in the first place. Being able to connect online made me feel less alone in my physical space. But, over the last couple of years, and maybe it's a partial byproduct of the glorious mindfuck the pandemic caused for all of us, I've had a lot of anxiety around being alone with myself. I've talked about this in previous posts, but that's what this year has been about for me. Trying to reconnect with myself. So, something that seems like no big deal to a lot of people, spending a week alone in a house with your dog, was actually kiiiinda a big deal for me. And my inner critic (who's suuuuuch a bitch) tells me that's embarrassing to admit, but fuck it, that's what this post is about.

And I dunno if you're like me, but my go to coping mechanism when I can't handle my own emotions is to swaddle myself in a blanket and drown my brain with hours of television and internet until I can't even hear the judgmental or scared voice inside my head anymore. Oh, or drinking. Or, if I'm really nasty, both! For hoooours! It's like revenge bedtime procrastination but from the minute I wake up. It's a strategy I realize I developed from having a tiny TV in my room as a teen and retreating to that safe haven any chance I got. Thankfully, we're on a beautiful break from the booze, so the mindless TV/internet crutch was my major concern coming down here. I wanted to ~gently~ challenge myself to do things slightly (just slightly!) out of my comfort zone in the moments I might feel uncomfortable rather than retreat to the *Gollum voice* preeeecious TV. And you know what I ended up doing the other day? I let an adult woman touch my feet!

In case you missed my announcement on lensday, I got a PEDICURE. Yup. I drove my clammy tootsie's to a professional place where they put them in a tiny tub, scrubbed them like they were sanding wood, and then slapped a thrilling gray on the nails. It was wild, y'all. Now, I know I know, a pedicure is no big deal for a lot of people. But it's kinda a big deal for me. Here's why. I haven't had a pedicure longer than I haven't been down to Palm Springs by myself. I mean, I wore closed toed shoes for my elopement so I wouldn't even have to worry about the feet situation. And the few times I got a pedicure in the past was likely because a stylist told me I had to because of the shoes they wanted to put me in for some event and the people pleaser in me didn't want to upset them. The only other time I remember getting one was with Mamrie on a break from shooting something for HeyUSA and I got the gorgeous gift of learning that she's ticklish and I honestly thought she might kick the sweet woman trying to massage her foot directly in the face. But, other than going along with a friend or fearfully doing it so someone I was paying to dress me wouldn't hate me, the idea of getting a pedicure for myself is COMPLETELY off my radar. Going to a place to offer money to someone in exchange for making your nasty southern hands look better??? In what world!?

I was talking with my little brother yesterday about how weirdly meaningful it was for me to go out and do this for myself and he commiserated on the truth that us Helbigs have a really difficult time doing nice things for ourselves. Sure I can book a vacation for Elliott and I, or go for a great meal with friends, but when it comes to simply doing something small and decent for only myself, it's like I'm trying to drive a stick shift. The car and the steering wheel are familiar but I have NO IDEA how to make it go. I think it also comes from growing up around parents that didn't model doing things for themselves. They helped everyone else, but they never took time for themselves. So the concept of self care always felt cringey or selfish or not worth thinking about. And that's been my systematic thinking all my life. But in these modern times of "if you don't love yourself" mantras and manifesting and mindfulness and living more consciously I think it's important to start to challenge some of our outdated patterns of thought. What's the alternative? Staring at a screen until my eyes bleed and my lower back collapses into itself? That clearly isn't helping me. Though I have already watched an episode of the new season of Queer Eye and cried!

The first episode already got me good! And I'll save the rest for later, as rewards after I've possibly tried to do some alternative styles of self care. But anyway, the pedicure was symbolic because it was a fear I faced. You guys, I was so nervous I was GOOGLING types of pedicures before I left just in case there was some new fancy language I didn't know about and I could be prepared to know what to ask for when I walked in. Even still, after I proudly asked "can ...I.... get a pedicure?" they asked me to pick out a nail color and internally I shouted "OH SHIT, I FORGOT ABOUT THIS PART" realizing I hadn't even thought of what COLOR I wanted. I panicked and went for a stunning summer GRAY. The woman sweetly told me it was "a beautiful color" but I knew she was lying. Didn't matter because I was distracted focusing on keeping my hotdog legs still enough as to not reveal how nervous I was. And then I had the image of Mamrie wheeze laughing and trying not to kick a woman in the nail shop during HeyUSA and it made me giggle to myself. Twenty minutes later I was out of there with those floppy pedicure flip flops grinning like an idiot and high fiving myself in my car. I did it. I paid someone to touch my feet! I must really love myself! And then I giggled all the way home at how stupidly proud of myself I was. Which, now that I'm thinking of it, might have contributed to me gifting myself a new VR set. I was so proud of what I had done I wondered what else could I do for myself. And ain't that just the truth. This self care shit builds momentum. I can start to see how doing nice things for yourself can be infectious. I mean, I'm even trying to wrap this post up now so I can swing by the Palm Springs art museum before it closes. It's been on my "nice things" to-do list for the week. Look at me go!

In conclusion, I hope you've done or might do something nice for yourselves this weekend. You deserve it. And turns out it's nice. Even if it seems scary or selfish or silly. Good luck! And thanks, as always, for being here! 💚G