Know this about Black women—we are going to take care of our skin, moisturize, soothe, and protect it. This may be accomplished with a number of products, but from the time we are first in our loved ones’ arms, they are going to tend to any semblance of dry, flaky skin. What we use to accomplish this can vary, from Vaseline, jojoba oil, cocoa butter, to drugstore lotion. As we get older, or have more disposable income, the brand names might change and the price may go up, but the point is, we will find a way to nourish our skin—it is taught from childhood. And to be honest, the men are not that different. Even my husband tells of how his mother would tell her three boys to go put on some lotion because they looked like they had been picking potatoes. My youngest brother is a devoted user of Jergens lotion, with its cherry almond scent that reminds me of the years when my father worked in the lab at The Andrew Jergens Company.

The last few years have been a strain on nearly everyone I know. We went into the COVID pandemic already stressed out because of the general disruption in the country, largely due to differences in values, politics, and policy. And the fact that these disagreements often tumbled into our work lives meant that issues which might have been reserved for at-home conversation and dissection were often factors on our jobs, in our schools, and in places of worship. So, the stress was already there. 

Many of us felt rushed in our days. Trying to get a bit more sleep, which we needed because we were already working what seemed like around the clock, meant that in the morning we hit snooze or lingered in bed, already feeling the pressure of what needed to be done that day within minutes of opening our eyes. Hurrying to the shower, or to the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast for one or many. Hurrying out the door, to school, to work, to daycare drop-off, to care give, to volunteer. Always in a hurry, rushing, racing. Lunch eaten not at a table with friends or coworkers, at least not most of time. Lunch grabbed and gobbled down, ultra-processed (who has time to cook anymore?), and way too often, at a desk, in a cubicle, or maybe in a cafeteria/restaurant. Not savored or enjoyed, it was eating to fill the belly, to sooth the stress, not always nutritious, then back to work, chores, obligations.

I remember many days when I looked up and it was 3 pm and I had not eaten since morning, if I had even eaten anything that morning, since I have never liked what constitutes the traditional American breakfast. No to coffee, pancakes, waffles, French toast, eggs, and bacon. No to donuts and most pastries, at least not in the morning because sweets in the morning make me queasy. Only when I started getting headaches did I realize that I was not doing myself any good by ignoring the need to eat something in the morning to give my body and brain the fuel it needed to run properly. 

Meals were not the only thing I rushed through so I could get to the more urgent matters of the day. I like to work out, but that takes time, and time was something that I primarily allocated to work. So, I might start a workout, like rowing, but feel like I needed to cut it short because after all, I had work to do. The hour-long Pilates sessions came to halt, and so did my flexibility and strength. But I persisted. 

COVID only seemed to amplify the need to keep things moving. Life momentarily slowed down in the first weeks of shutdown, at least outside of our homes. The ongoing hum of cars, the buzz of life inside stores, coffee shops, and restaurants—that slowed. With no place to go, at least in the beginning, we were forced to stay home, not a bad idea since we did not fully understand the consequences of mixing and mingling. Inside our homes, unless you lived alone, it became a bit more crowded, sometimes chaotic, if people did not have the space they needed to get work done with others around. And since commerce and education had to continue, companies found ways to work and communicate online, stressing the bandwidth of not just employees and students, but of our peace. 

The worst of that period is over, but I think it highlighted what we have been feeling for years. We are not just doing the most, we might be doing too much. Perhaps that is why many used the time to reflect on what they wanted their lives to look and feel like. Perhaps that is why some office employees continue to resist the return to the office. Once they learned how to work from home, and organized their spaces to accommodate the shift, they wanted to keep it that way. And if your job can be done anywhere, why leave home when you can work from home, a coffee shop, or across the country? Does it really matter for most of us if you take a chunk of time midday to go for a walk, paint, or nap, as long as you get the work done?

Not everyone had that option, of choosing when and where to work. And technology has not freed us from potentially working around the clock, not when a computer is tethered to most adults, whether it is in your back pocket, purse, or on your wrist. We really can be reached at any time, and I don’t think most of us want that, unless it is reserved for family and some friends.

In an effort to make the most of time, or I mean the same 24 hours a day we all have to live life, I rushed through some tasks, usually the ones most needed for my health, so that I could get to the ones that felt more urgent, like work. I had a conversation about how it was easy to let the demands of life get in the way of taking time to do things for myself that were important, such as self-care. I do not mean self-care as in a taking a bath. That works for some but let’s face it, I am going to take a shower or bathe regardless of my mood, so that never felt like pampering. Maybe you have to allow more time for it to feel like a luxury, but that wasn’t my thing. 

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but I was rushing around so much that I barely took time to put lotion on,” I said. I was a little embarrassed to admit this, but I was in a safe conversation with a Black woman who would understand what I was trying to say.

“I know, I get it,” she said.

“I’m not saying that I completely stopped, but just that it was more rushed, kind of hit and miss.” 

I added this so that I would not sound like I was completely neglectful, walking around dry and flaky, even ashy, under my pants or tights.

She had experienced the same feelings, that it was more important to get to the next task rather than taking time for herself. I felt completely understood. When you don’t have time to apply lotion, you need to take a hard look at what is going on.

It might seem like an insignificant step, but that is when I realized I could start with one simple thing to slow down as an act of self-care. I splurged on moisturizer, also keeping the oils and cream I grew up on. These days, after my shower or before bed, where I used to rush, I intentionally slow down. The ritual does not take an hour, it is surprisingly quicker than I thought, yet satisfying. I dip my fingers into the pot of whatever potion I want to use that day, rub it between my hands, and tell myself that I do not have to rush; I can take my time and and take care. I repeat the ritual shown to me by my mother and Black mothers before her. I apply my lotions, look to make sure there are no dry spots. I laugh as I remember the old Jergens commercial with the alligator, telling women that without lotion their skin would be rough and wrinkly. It is a simple routine, but the beginning of my attempt to slow down, minister to myself, and not rush to take care of other folks’ business before I tend to my own.