Self-Care Is Important. But What About Childcare?
We tell overwhelmed parents to rest, exercise, talk to someone, join a support group and make time for themselves. All good advice. But sometimes we're missing a very practical question: what actually needs to be in place to make any of that possible?
I believe in self-care.
I believe in rest. I believe in counselling. I believe in moving our bodies, spending time with people who make us feel good, setting boundaries and creating moments where we aren't constantly giving to everybody else.
I've encouraged other people to do these things.
I've written about them.
I've coached around them.
I've had to learn how to do many of them myself.
And I still believe in them.
But lately, I've found myself questioning the way we talk about self-care, particularly when we're talking to parents and carers who are already stretched incredibly thin.
Because sometimes the advice is absolutely right.
It's just not that simple.
“You need to make more time for yourself.”
How often have you heard this? How many times have I said it?
During the six-week summer holidays, I had three child-free days.
Three.
And two of those days I spent decorating.
Now, that sentence makes it sound like I calmly made a decision:
“Do you know what? Rather than rest today, I think I'll redecorate.”
Absolutely not.
It took me ages. Like I decided the week before the end of the holidays ages.
And, for full transparency, I still haven't completely finished. Go figure!
Somewhere in the process I also made the slightly horrifying discovery that I keep hold of waaaay too much shit.
Things I don't need.
Things I haven't used.
Things I've apparently been saving for an unspecified future version of myself who may one day desperately require a random cable from 2017.
Why am I like this?
Then there was my very-much-suspected-but-not-diagnosed ADHD brain trying to participate in proceedings.
I'd start one job.
See something else.
Start that.
Remember the original thing.
Find something I'd forgotten existed.
Stand there holding it while having an internal debate about whether I should keep it.
Put it somewhere “for now.”
Forget where “for now” was.
Start another job.
My lovely, it was a JOURNEY.
I had to have several words with myself.
And at some point, the voice guiding me through this experience became none other than Auntie Jenifer Motherfucking Lewis in my head.
If you know Jenifer Lewis, you know.
I didn't need an ethereal wellness voice whispering:
Breathe, Nikki. Honour what your body needs.
Absolutely not.
I needed Auntie Jenifer energy.
Girl. Get up. Pick a bloody thing. Make a decision. And keep moving.
And eventually, bit by bit, I did.
But the whole experience made me think.
Because technically, I had the thing we're so often told we need:
Time to myself.
The children weren't there.
Nobody was asking me for anything.
I had space.
And yet I hadn't magically transformed into this calm, focused, highly regulated woman gliding serenely around her home, decluttering with a beautiful linen basket while soft jazz played in the background.
I was still me.
Tired me.
Overstimulated me.
Distractible me.
Six-weeks-of-summer-holidays me.
And I think that's important when we talk about self-care.
Because having a few hours available doesn't automatically mean we have the capacity to use those hours in the way wellbeing advice tells us we should.
Time is one resource.
But it isn't the only one.
Sometimes we already know what we need
There's a lot of conversation within wellbeing about helping people identify their needs.
And that's important.
Self-awareness has been a huge part of my own journey.
But sometimes?
We already bloody know.
I'm tired.
I need a break.
I'd love to go for a walk on my own.
Talking to someone would probably help.
I'd quite like to exercise without simultaneously supervising somebody else.
I'd love to see my friends.
I'd love an afternoon where nobody asks me where something is before actually looking for it.
The problem isn't always awareness.
Sometimes the problem is access.
Because underneath a lot of parental self-care advice sits an assumption that we don't always acknowledge:
Someone else is available to care for the children.
Go to counselling.
Okay.
But what about childcare?
Join a support group.
I'd love to.
But what about childcare?
Take an exercise class.
Sounds great.
But what about childcare?
Spend an afternoon doing something just for you.
Wonderful.
But what about childcare?
And even when childcare is available, that doesn't necessarily mean it's accessible.
Childcare isn't always as simple as “finding a babysitter”
For some families, particularly those raising children with additional needs, childcare can be complicated.
It's not necessarily a case of finding someone.
It may need to be someone your child knows.
Someone your child trusts.
Someone who understands their communication.
Their sensory needs.
Their routines.
Their behaviour.
Their triggers.
How they communicate distress.
How to help them regulate.
How to keep them safe.
And, importantly, someone you trust enough to actually switch off while you're away.
Then there's affordability.
Availability.
Transport.
Work schedules.
Whether suitable provision exists locally.
Whether your child will tolerate it.
Whether you have family nearby.
Whether those family members are actually able, and willing to help.
Suddenly, “take a couple of hours for yourself” isn't quite as straightforward as it sounded.
There can be a considerable amount of invisible infrastructure required before a parent can actually practise the self-care we're recommending.
Self-care can start sounding like a medieval quest
And then there's the sheer amount of wellbeing advice we're surrounded by.
Drink more water.
Journal.
Meditate.
Move your body.
Eat nourishing food.
Sleep eight hours.
Spend time outside.
Practise gratitude.
Maintain friendships.
Attend therapy.
Set boundaries.
Rest.
Have hobbies.
At some point, self-care starts sounding less like care and more like being handed a medieval quest.
“Before the next full moon, thou shalt drink two litres of water, walk ten thousand steps across the kingdom, meditate at sunrise, journal thy innermost thoughts, consume seven nourishing meals, attend therapy, nurture thy friendships, establish firm boundaries and sleep eight uninterrupted hours.”
My lovely, I was just trying to get through Tuesday.
I'm joking.
But there's something underneath that joke that matters.
When someone is already overwhelmed, even genuinely helpful wellbeing advice can start to feel like another list of things they're supposed to be doing.
And when they can't?
There's the potential for self-care to become another area where they feel they're falling short.
Another habit they haven't maintained.
Another routine they couldn't stick to.
Another thing everybody else apparently manages to do while they can't quite work out how.
Care shouldn't become another performance.
Self-care requires resources
This is where my thinking around self-care has started to expand.
Because perhaps the conversation isn't simply:
Do you value yourself enough to make time for yourself?
Sometimes people desperately value themselves.
They just don't have the resources.
And when I say resources, I don't only mean money.
Self-care can require:
Time.
Energy.
Childcare.
Money.
Transport.
Executive capacity.
Flexible employment.
Suitable services.
People you trust.
A support network.
Emotional capacity.
Community.
And sometimes, when you've finally managed to secure one of those things, perhaps someone has the children for three hours, you're already so depleted that you don't want to journal, attend a workshop or do a Pilates class.
You want to lie horizontally and stare at the ceiling.
And perhaps that's what you need.
Permission matters. But so does provision.
A lot of my own work around rest has been about permission.
Giving myself permission to stop before everything is finished.
Unlearning the idea that rest has to be earned through exhaustion.
Understanding that my worth isn't measured by how much I accomplish.
Recognising rest as foundational rather than something we squeeze in once all the “important” things have been done.
That internal work matters.
I still believe in it wholeheartedly.
But I'm increasingly recognising that we need another conversation alongside it.
Because you can give someone all the permission in the world to rest while their circumstances make rest incredibly difficult.
That's why I keep coming back to two words:
Permission and provision.
Do I believe I'm allowed to care for myself?
And:
Do I have access to the practical support that enables me to do it?
Those are not the same question.
Maybe we need another question
I don't think we need to stop asking:
“What are you doing to look after yourself?”
It's still an important question.
But perhaps we need to place another question beside it:
“What would make looking after yourself more possible?”
And then actually listen to the answer.
Maybe it's affordable childcare.
Maybe it's respite.
Maybe it's flexible working.
Maybe it's having somebody who understands their child.
Maybe it's accessible support within their community.
Maybe it's money.
Maybe it's time.
Maybe it's having somewhere their child can be supported while they receive support too.
Maybe it's simply somebody trustworthy saying:
“I've got them. Go.”
Those aren't failures of mindset.
They're circumstances.
And if we genuinely care about parental wellbeing, I think we need to become as curious about those circumstances as we are about teaching people strategies to cope with them.
Maybe self-care was never supposed to be entirely individual
I'm becoming increasingly interested in this.
We've made self-care very individual.
What are YOU doing?
What boundaries are YOU setting?
How are YOU managing your stress?
What habits could YOU change?
Personal responsibility matters. I don't want to remove it from the conversation.
There are things within our control.
There are skills we can develop.
There are boundaries we can create.
There are ways we can learn to understand and support ourselves better.
But there are also things that cannot be solved by another breathing exercise.
Sometimes what we need is another human being.
Community.
Practical support.
Accessible services.
Someone sharing the load.
And perhaps that's something we've lost sight of in our very individualised conversations about wellbeing.
Maybe flourishing isn't only about becoming better at sustaining ourselves.
Maybe it's also about creating families, workplaces, services and communities where people don't have to sustain quite so much alone.
A little note from Nikki
I still believe in self-care.
Very much.
I'm just becoming more interested in what needs to exist around us for self-care to become genuinely accessible.
So perhaps the next time we're tempted to tell an exhausted parent:
“You really need to make some time for yourself.”
we could pause before offering another strategy.
And ask:
“What would need to happen for you to actually be able to?”
Because self-care needs more than permission.
Sometimes it needs provision.
And sometimes it needs Auntie Jenifer Motherfucking Lewis telling you to throw away the random cable you've been keeping since 2017.
Apparently.
Until next time, take care my lovely. Nikki x
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