Dressing up My Oatmeal
and other sacred self-care practices
I drafted most of this essay earlier in the year and planned to edit and share it at the end of April. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. I was under acute stress from multiple directions, and it took all of my reserves to remain intact and keep moving forward. Part of taking care of myself the past two and a half months included stepping away from my monthly essays, which felt like a self-betrayal at the time if I’m honest. I also recognize that I did what I needed to do to get through. As I emerge from the trenches and ease into slower-paced rhythms and routines, I am reminding myself that integrity, one of my core values, isn’t only about sticking to your word, but also how you return when you fall off.
As with all my love affairs, I can trace the origins of my love for oatmeal with impeccable detail. Our first encounter was in 2011 — undergrad, first year, the cafeteria in Dalton-Ellis Hall — the first place I lived for an extended period of time outside of my parents’ home. It was offered as a daily breakfast option. I remember thinking how unsightly the thick, lumpy substance was. I’m not sure what made me try it one day. Curiosity, perhaps. I’ve come to learn that as risk-averse as I am, after I observe a thing long enough, I am willing to try it at least once.
I remember noticing how soothing the first bite felt. Like a warm hug. Easy and smooth. I loved how it left me feeling satiated for hours afterward.
Over the years, I started experimenting with different toppings and spices — nuts, dried fruit, fresh fruit, chia seeds, pumpkin seeds, flax seeds, flaxseed powder, Greek yoghurt, cinnamon, turmeric, nutmeg — all of which elevated the oatmeal experience. Overnight oats were an obsession for me at some point: a quick and easy breakfast for the busy days, though I must admit I prefer them warm.
The versatility of oatmeal cannot be understated. I’ve heard that in some cultures they make it savory as well. I’m yet to explore that side of oatmeal but it truly makes me giddy, thinking about all the possibilities this simple breakfast dish holds. Quick, filling, sweet, savory, satiating and grounding. A steady companion for the difficult days when I struggle with my appetite.
Sometimes, I take pictures of my oatmeal and post them online. The most recent time I did, one of my followers replied, sharing their disdain for oatmeal because so much “dressing up” needs to be done to it to make it edible. We had a fun exchange about oatmeal, and I appreciated their wordplay, which I used to title this post (with their consent). I was left reflecting on how ironic it was that the blandness they named represented the very thing that I have come to appreciate deeply about oatmeal. It’s simple enough to allow me to play around with different flavors and textures in a manner that feels safe. And even if the combination of flavors or textures isn’t a complete hit, the steady, reliable base that oatmeal offers always makes for a sturdy, satiating meal. Dressing up my oatmeal feels like an act of sacred self-care to me. And I have come to cherish the practice.
Self-care can be as simple as we make it. I would argue that the simpler it is — that is, the more within our reach it is — the more effective it becomes. Because it’s in the seasons that stretch us most, the seasons that self care feels most elusive, that we need to take the most care.
I’ve been in a long season of stretching and I’m nearing the finish line. Besides preparing and savoring a heartwarming bowl of oatmeal, these are some additional sacred self-care practices that have helped me remain intact (in no particular order). Take what’s helpful, leave the rest.
Stretch. In bed. Do it when you wake up before you think about it. Child’s pose. Happy baby. Spinal twists. Five minutes is more than enough.
Drink water from a cup/glass/bottle that you enjoy or that holds sentimental value. My friend’s recently gifted me a very pretty water bottle and every time I take a sip, I think about pouring into my body as symbolic of my friends pouring into me. This has elevated my hydration experience.
Do nothing. Spend time alone, without work or social media to distract you. Let the hidden, buried, lingering things reveal themselves and move through, and out of, your body. By nothing, I mean doing what’s necessary to keep you alive without overstimulating yourself. For me, that looks like eating, sleeping, showering, hydrating. Watching old, familiar shows. Reading - fiction preferably - things that ignite the imagination. Crying. Stretching. Walking.
Do things that you enjoy. Bonus points if they’re free. I recently went for a book reading and conversation by one of my all-time favorite poets and novelists, Yrsa Daley-Ward, and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Twenty two year old me was in awe that I got to share a room with and listen to someone whose words had held me for so many years. Thirty two year old me was grateful that I made it this far, to be able to experience that awe.
Cry, as much as you need to. Do it in the shower. Something about being covered in water from both within and outside of you feels cleansing and cathartic.
Sleep. Seven hours minimum if you can. Don’t play about your sleep - no matter what season you’re in. And if you can’t sleep, this still stands, lay down for seven hours minimum.
Do something creative. Use your hands. Color. Write. Draw. Paint. Do a puzzle.
Phone a friend. Tell people what you need, and require it from them. Get comfortable with needing things. I can’t recall a time I’ve relied on people as much as I have the past ten months. I told one of my people that seeing pictures of her kids would help, and she dutifully clocked in, sending me pictures every so often, reminding me that I’m auntie to multiple little humans and therefore so much more than what I do/don’t do.
Pleasure. Whatever that looks like for you — do that. Some useful resources -
To read:
To listen (and dance) to:
The concept of self-care as sacred came up for me this Lent, when I joined a reading circle convened by two brilliant black women — Dr. Khalia Ii and Khamila Ii (thank you). We worked our way through Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes’ book ‘Sacred Self-Care: Daily Practices for Nurturing our Whole Selves’. In each daily reading Dr. Chanequa nudged us to undertake one small self-care task, reminding us that tending to ourselves mentally, physically, emotionally, relationally and spiritually is as sacred as it gets.
Reflective questions
What are some of your sacred self-care practices?
How do you dress up your oatmeal? I’m always on the hunt for new recipes.
Some pictures of my oatmeal
Oatmeal with caramelized apples, Greek yoghurt, a bunch of seeds I forgot the names of, and honey.
Oatmeal with blueberries, banana, honey, turmeric and flaxseed powder.
