Hereafter kind

"Let me be to my sad self hereafter kind."

~Peter Pouncey, Rules for Old Men Waiting: A Novel

Kindness towards myself used to be a rare commodity. I knew all of my faults and weaknesses, none better. Growing up at school I was mocked and ridiculed for my weight, and as a defense mechanism, I started being the one who was unkind to myself. It was a way of saying "Yeah, I know you think I'm ugly and fat, but I've already said it so you don't have to."

Over the years, I have tried to move away from that mindset. I have tried to realize that regardless of what I look like, I am valuable and have worthwhile contributions to make. There is no point in stabbing myself first so that the wounds others inflict would seem like afterthoughts.

But grief has brought me to a place where I need more kindness. "Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing." I have known sorrow deeply and repeatedly. I have spent many years with grief as my companion, showing me the deep things inside myself: fears, doubts, and remorse. But I have also discovered resilience and empathy.

So kindness for me looks like honest reflection. Seeing in myself everything that is there, both the things that I am ashamed of, and the things that I am proud of. Seeing them equally and unflinchingly, and being tender towards myself. Seeing myself as someone worth caring for, worth taking time for. Knowing that there is no such thing as perfect, but that I can work towards better.

Kindness looks like naps when I'm tired, reaching out to my family when I am scared. It looks like patience when I make mistakes, and compassion for the worn-out woman who is trying her best to make it through this chaotic time.