The Wreckage of My Presence: Essays

by Casey Wilson

Speaking of. Please don’t keep suggesting I practice more self-care. I know you mean well. And I’m all for it as an overall concept, and of course I believe it to be important, especially for women. HOWEVER. Let’s all take a step back and calm down. And at least acknowledge that the notion one would even have the luxury/time/money to actively practice self-care is coming from a place of incredible privilege. So let’s start there. Now, that said, as someone who has had the means to seek help from every unaccredited guru under the hot Los Angeles sun and who still seems to find the time to steal away for bottom facials, I’m tired of being cheerfully and almost pityingly told, whenever a problem arises, that I just need to “practice more self-care.” I’m already leaning in and working full-time while doing 85 percent of the housework, carrying 90 percent of the mental load, and making 79 cents on the dang dollar. Much more disturbing, Black women are making 63 cents, Indigenous women 58 cents, and Latinx women, only 54 cents. And on top of all that, we’re supposed to engage in radical self-care? Here’s something radical. This is too much to ask of us and from ourselves. Now you’d have me find time to fail at something else????