“If you have the ability to love, love yourself first.”
— Charles Bukwoski —
I used to be a hustler. I didn’t hustle other people, but I lied to myself for a long, long time. I told myself I loved the grind. Loved being known as a hard worker; someone committed to making change in the world so much that she sacrifices her well-being. I had a reputation to uphold. I wore it like a badge of honour. Look at me I am sacrificing myself for the greater good. I’m hustling for the most vulnerable on the frontlines of climate change. What’s more virtuous than that?
I was away more than I was home. I had two passports so that if one was at an embassy or high commission getting a visa I could still travel with the other. Because not being able to travel? I couldn’t imagine it. I was running; always running. I’m still trying to fully untangle what it was I was running from. But the hard truth is that I got something out of travelling. It was a substance I used to numb myself and to avoid things I didn’t want to confront.
When I wasn’t travelling, I was writing papers and briefs, catching up on things I couldn’t do while in meetings. And the emails. Oh, the emails. When I wasn’t working, I was thinking about work; mentally adding things to my to do list. Rarely if ever was I on the list. I wanted to stop. I did. I really did. I wanted to travel less, work less. But I didn’t know how. I felt like I was on a treadmill with no stop button. Where’s the stop button? How do I slow this thing down?
But then one day the world stopped. It got quiet. And the planes were grounded. I couldn’t travel. Woosh. The relief. I could hear the birds sing. The layers of noise were gone. No cars on the road. Few people on the streets. No planes in the sky. No possibility to be in a plane in the sky. Relief. So much relief.
The travel stopped but the hustling continued. Jumping from continent-to-continent became transitioning from Zoom call to Zoom call. Six, seven hours of calls a day on top of everything else. Depleted of energy at the end of the day. Too much interaction for my brain. Where’s the stop button? How do I slow this thing down?
I knew the key was cultivating more love for myself and I worked hard to do that. It was a process, sometimes an arduous one and a lot to confront along the way. After several months of that I started to set boundaries. I experimented with what time of day works best for me to do this or that. How many calls can I do a day without feeling depleted. What does my body need? My mind? My soul?
Slowly, slowly I started to unravel. My body wanted to rest. And eventually I let it. I probably let it rest a little too much to be honest. More than I would have had it not been socially acceptable to stay at home for the greater good. Stay inside to save lives. And so, I did. I put myself on my to do list. Eventually I was first on the list. I made time for the things that nourished me. Meditation. Contemplation. Long walks in the country. Dabbling in yoga.
The climate negotiations had been postponed of course as there were no meetings in the first year of the pandemic but then the following summer there was the question of whether COP 26 would be held later that year as initially planned. We were still in a pandemic. Vaccine access was highly unequal. People were suffering. How could we hold a global meeting in such a world? But then others argued how could you not? Climate action is more urgent now than ever before.
I prayed and hoped that the meeting would be postponed. It was in the country I lived in. How could I not go? Glasgow is a four-hour train ride away. But I knew I wasn’t ready to return to the grind. That I wouldn’t ever be ready. My recovery was still on-going and I was fragile. I needed to stay in the cocoon longer. What becomes of the butterfly forced to leave its cocoon too early? It dies. I felt like who I was becoming would die too if I returned to the before. It was too soon.
As I was contemplating this in the uncertainly of whether COP 26 would be held that year or not I had a conversation with a very good friend. I told her I was hoping that the COP would be postponed and really nervous about what to do if it wasn’t. She told me something that changed me forever. She said, “You don’t have to go.”
Everything became quiet. The world stopped for me in that moment. I couldn’t hear anything else but the whoosh in my ears. “What did you say?” I asked her. “You don’t have to go” she repeated. “I don’t have to go” I said out loud. After ending my conversation with her I then mulled it over in my mind for several days. Repeating the mantra. I don’t have to go. I don’t have to go. And then finally resolute: I don’t have to go.
When it was announced that COP 26 would take place that year my decision was made. I wouldn’t go. I told my colleagues that I wasn’t ready. I prepared myself for a backlash. It didn’t come. Many people told me that they wished they could do the same. “You can”, I told them. “You don’t have to go either” I declared. But they did go. Because someone had to. Someone had to be in the trenches. But it couldn’t be me. I knew that I needed to recover fully. It didn’t stop the guilt though.
At the time I told myself it was selfish of me. But how is that selfish? The definition of selfish is be concerned excessively or exclusively with oneself at the expense of others. Is it selfish to take care of our bodies? To tend to our minds? To nurture our souls? I suppose if it’s at the expense of others it is but how do we define that? Also isn’t it better for others if we’re healthy and well? Can’t we make bigger change in the world if we’re taking care of us?
In the end I made a decision that was best for me and I wear that like a badge. Because I stood up for me. I stood up for me. Because my health matters. My body, my mind, my soul. They matter and they are mine to tend to. Not just because I am someone who aspires to make change in the world. But because I am human. I get to decide. And I don’t have to go. So, I didn’t.
I did however follow virtually and work 18-hour days throughout COP 26 supporting the team on the ground. It was far easier than being there in person. Alongside the daily COVID tests, train strikes, long journeys to the venue, it was two weeks of intense meetings. I felt guilty for not being there and thanked my colleagues every day. I should be with them I thought. It hurt my heart a little but not as much as it would have had I gone. I knew it was the right decision for me.
The following year, now two years into the pandemic, travel resumed. Not business as usual quite yet or maybe never again but the in-person meetings resumed. I didn’t go to those either. Because I couldn’t. Not because I wasn’t ready, though that’s also true. But because I literally couldn’t.
I had applied for permanent residency in the UK and it had been delayed significantly. When I applied, I was told that the average length of time for applications like mine was three months but that it could take up to six months. Mine took 16 months. I could not leave the UK for a year after COP 26. I wanted to go to Sharm-el-Sheikh for COP 27 but I couldn’t. And deep down I also knew I wasn’t ready.
The universe had other plans for me. You need to recover it whispered to me. You don’t need to go. You can just be.
All this happened because I learned to love myself and to stay true to what my body, my mind, my soul needed to recover and to ultimately, thrive.
My residency came through a couple months ago. I haven’t travelled yet. I am ready and I’m excited to see the many friends and colleagues I’ve missed seeing over the past three years. But there’s nowhere I need to be just yet. When I do go it will be because I decide that that’s where I want to be. Because I get to decide what’s best for me.
Erin Roberts is a climate policy researcher and the founder of the Climate Leadership Initiative. She used to travel a lot but now loves staying home and exploring the hills near her home in rural England. She loves herself a little more each day.
This blog was first published on Medium. You can find the original article here.
