Tabatha Wharton



a year+ in the life of my evolving, offbeat aesthetic as i navigate being
a mid-30s-femme-grown-up-emo-punk-single-mom-graduate-student-non-profit-employee-fashionista.


I am home sick today.

I knew this was coming, as the semester wound down to a close and my constantly triggered adrenaline finally started to taper off. I woke up this morning with a fever hot enough to disorient me and give me cold sweats followed by hot sweats, and then I couldn’t keep my breakfast down.

This is what happens when I stop living at the absolute limit of my functionality. I open this window of sorts inside myself where my defenses are down and whatever illness I’ve been harboring flares up and takes me hostage. It’s repeatedly put me in the hospital, when I attempt to push through it.

Also leaving the greater valley area where I live for a hot minute over the weekend likely didn’t help. The Native Americans who first settled around here used to call it the Valley of Sickness because gross just gets trapped here and festers — mold and germs and it’s always so humid and funky. And by leaving, my body relaxed and remembered how to function under not quite so oppressive circumstances … and then my ass came home, messing that all up.

But I did something different this morning than I’ve done in the past. I knew I could have taken some Tylenol and probably make it in to work and continued on with my day, miserable, but fulfilling my responsibilities.

Or I could allow myself to actually take care of myself.

So I called in to work and once morning bus duty was complete, I went the hell back to bed and slept for another nearly five hours. I feel 80% less like death on fire (though I’m pretty confident I have an sinus and/or ear infection that is the impetus for the rest of whatever gross I’m fighting off) and I’m now able to drink some coffee and have some toast. Which means instead of illness hijacking two to three days of my week by pushing myself too far, maybe I’ve lost a day of work, but fingers crossed I’ll be back at it tomorrow.

And if not, moving back to my hometown has me living literally down the street from the general practice doctor I’ve had since high school (at least) and I know I won’t have to fight anyone there to listen to me and how I know my body works, like I’ve had to do at other urgent cares and emergency rooms over the last few years.

So it may seem like a stupid, simple thing … but I think one of the hardest things about being a solo adult in a household is allowing yourself that space for actual self-care — not the froofy bubble baths and face masks, though those are nice too — actual, mundane self-care that keeps you a functional human in the world, even if that means you need to take breaks when you feel like you should push through because all of the responsibility and logistics of the household rests firmly and squarely on your shoulders alone.

And my goal for 2019 is to not end up in the hospital again. At least not for stupid shit like dehydration and adrenal failure and sepsis. Not for the manageable, lifestyle stuff.

Here’s to a healthier holiday season.

Grey leopard print knit sweater & black coated skinny jeggings (both in tall!): Old Navy
Black faux leather belted moto jacket: Express
Burgundy plaid flannel infinity scarf: handmade gift
Clear quartz prism stud earrings: Pluma Jewelry
Purple tortoiseshell cats eye glasses: Kate Spade
Black convertible moto boots: Dr. Martens
Clear umbrella: Target