I love Queer Eye. When it popped up on Netflix I vaguely remembered the show from the early 2000s that I never watched because I have no taste for reality TV, so I scrolled right past it without a second thought. But when a few of my fellow teachers began singing its praises last Tuesday at an end-of-the-year celebration, I decided to check it out if for no other reason than to balance out the extremely dark, intense shows that have occupied watchlist over the last few months (Handmaid's Tale and Westworld, in case you're wondering). It's summer vacation, after all! I could use a little light. I started watching that night and was immediately hooked. My friend hadn't been exaggerating when she said she cried at least once every episode. I think I made it through all of fifteen minutes before something in that first episode rendered me sobbing happy tears. Unlike many reality shows, this show seemed to make a concerted effort to represent thoughtful dialogue and affect meaningful change in the lives of both the subjects and the hosts. Each episode culminates in both an outward and a deeply internal change within the subject. Although I have to question the longevity of these transformations, the premise is simple: people can always strive to be a better version of themselves through introspection, a supportive team, and a fresh haircut. One of the Fab Five, Jonathan Van Ness, is responsible for hair care and grooming. He's the one who gets struggling men out from behind their unkempt beards and teaches them about pomade and sunscreen. He is easily the most outwardly effeminate of the crew so he often stands in stark contrast to the unsuspecting burly clients with whom they work, but his concern is sincere and his efforts to destigmatize hair and skin care for men are typically well-received. Jonathan is full of finger snaps, hair flips, and "Yaaaaaaas girl!" exclamations, but there is one statement he has made on multiple occasions that struck me: "It's not vanity, it's self care. And there's a difference." Self care has always been a struggle for me, as I suspect it is for most. Admit it, there is at least some area of our lives where we could afford to care for ourselves more, whether it be with our grooming habits, diet, exercise, or mental health. For me, my area of improvement is largely emotional and stems from the stressful standards I hold myself to, whether or not others share those same expectations. I've already spoken to the need for therapy as a form of self care, but I still need to give myself frequent reminders about my day-to-day needs, specifically my emotions, despite a challenging lifestyle.
In many ways, this year has been more challenging than most. Last summer was my fourth working full time in a supervisory role at a wonderful day camp in Staten Island, but it also meant a grand total of 16 days off between summer camp and school. I entered the school year exhausted and immediately faced with a scheduling snafu that caused no small amount of stress. The school year felt more difficult and unsatisfying than most, one of those years that a more experienced teacher told me might happen now and then. I've spent the last three months telling myself "Just get through it. I'm not a bad teacher. Just get through it." And I did. Meanwhile J began Fellowship Interview Season, a grueling seven-month period scattered with interviews for a portion of the nearly 40 programs to which he applied in February. He has been extremely fortunate to receive numerous interview requests, but nearly each interview comes with making travel and lodging plans, none of which are covered by the interviewing programs (except for one rare occasion). When he's not taking the latest flight to or from New York, he's working, often until late into the evening. He takes call at least once a week, whenever they can fit him in. In many ways this is an extraordinary situation: at this point the question is not whether or not he will match into a Surgical Critical Care fellowship in October, but where he will match. Still, it is a draining experience on our time, our energy, and not least of all our finances. And finally, there was the Big Bad Horrible Thing that happened back in May and still isn't quite resolved. Things are moving in the right direction, but weekly doctor visits and blood tests have stalled the healing process and made it impossible to move forward the way we would have hoped. Things will be okay, but I can't say for certain when. All of this has tested one of the greatest Surthrival skills for any surgeon's spouse: don't wait to live your life. Ask any doctor's wife and she will tell you that independence is a must. It starts with the home - doing the chores, maintenance, and errands without the help of your partner - but it extends to personal joys as well. The last five years have taught me, among other things, to not depend on J to be present in order for me to enjoy myself. There are certain things I will reserve for when we are together (like watching the Sense8 series finale), but I've learned not to wait for him to attend performances, birthday parties, and neighborhood events. Rather, doing them independently means not being disappointed that he had to work late, had to be on call, or was simply too tired to attend. This lesson has been hard to learn. One of the biggest barriers to my own happiness has been my inability to distinguish between legitimately valid needs or concerns and selfish desires, and I still struggle to categorize things like my own joy as self-affirming, not self-indulgent. So when J and I are invited for a Shabbat dinner and J might not get out of work until very late, I sometimes have to give myself a kick in the pants to accept the invitation because it's not about leaving J behind, it's about making sure I still live my life. I cannot let his schedule define my happiness. These last two months have seriously tested that independence. I have felt like I needed him so badly and he has been more absent than at any other time in our marriage, often because he's in another state. I have had to navigate some of these challenges alone, or at least without him physically by my side, and I won't lie: it has been hard. But then I watched Queer Eye. . . "It's not vanity, it's self care. And there's a difference." It was an unexpected but necessary reminder about this life I live and the independence I've fostered. I could easily view my solitude as a burden, or I could allow it to distance myself from J. But I have to remember that when J's schedule demands it, going out and living life on my own, on my own terms, is not selfish. Rather, it is about caring for myself and my needs as an individual, because our partnership is only as stable as I am. If I do not build up my own strength, our marriage will falter under the stress of his career. And if I do not pay attention to my needs, his job will easily crush me. To all the doctor's spouses out there (and the military spouses, and the entrepreneur spouses, and everyone else who feels the weight of solitude), don't ignore your needs. Don't allow yourself to be consumed by your partner's career or lifestyle, because you are your own person. It is not vain to want things, to go out and enjoy things, to live your own life distinctly from your spouse; it is self care. And there's a difference.
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AuthorNashira is a music teacher and proud Small-Town Jew who, after surthriving six years in Brooklyn for her husband's surgical residency, is finally back in Wisconsin where she belongs! At least until the end of the two-year surgical fellowship, that is. It's a wild ride, and she's ready to tell you all about it! Archives
September 2019
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