When I was pregnant with Seven, I went to the chiropractor regularly. It started before he was born.

I have a lot of responsibilities. Some might say, more responsibilities than I am capable of keeping up with. So in order to get a break, sometimes my body just quits working. This can look like a head cold, a stomach bug, or a sudden, unexpected nap. In this case, I tried to lift my head off of my pillow one Monday morning and it felt like something in my neck had snapped. I lowered my head back down to the pillow and didn’t try to get up again that day.

For close to a week, I was locked into a very small range of motion. Even now, I can feel my body curling into the painfully taut position I was stuck in during that time. I rested, applied heat, took ibuprofen. I told myself it would get better on its own. Nothing worked.

By the end of the week, I was in tears and could barely move. I packed up all the kids and headed to urgent care, a place no one wants to be on a Friday night. The Chaplain had a late night and would meet us there.

After a humiliating shot of Toridol in my glute, the effect was almost instant. What was humiliating about it? I’m not sure. Was it that I had to pull my pants down when it was my neck that hurt? Or that I needed to ask for help at all for something that seemed as silly as a stiff neck?

At any rate, I got nearly all of my range of motion back. Then, I followed up with a chiropractor to get the last little bit taken care of.

I became pregnant with Seven, and continued getting adjusted throughout the pregnancy. It felt tremendously decadent to lay there on the table with hot pads on my back every week, floating close to sleep, then getting a massage, and having all my bones cracked.

After Seven was born, trying to get to the chiropractor with a newborn felt superfluous and unattainable. I went a few times more, bringing along the baby and a second child to act as a helper, then stopped going.

When he got a little older and I was able to leave him home in the care of the bigger kids for short periods, I felt like I didn’t want to use all my “leaving the kids alone for short periods” cards on going to the chiropractor. I was doing physical therapy for a while, and there were errands to run. I couldn’t go to the chiropractor without the kids on top of that.

Then, we were using all those cards on my individual counseling and our couples counseling (I’m home with the kids when the Chaplain has his own individual appointment).

This past weekend, I did 9 hours of driving in a few days’ time and by the time I got back home, I could barely move. The Chaplain tried to work out some of the kinks, and he did, but there were some bones that needed cracking, and that’s above his pay grade.

In desperation this morning, I called the chiropractor after months away, and scheduled an appointment.

I brought a book in as I always do, but ended up setting it down and just letting myself rest under the weight of the heated pads on my back. I had almost drifted off several times by the time my chiropractor stepped in. He took the pads off, helped me stretch, gave me a massage, and started cracking.

The offending vertebrae gave a loud, satisfying crack when it went back into place.

I was left wondering after I got back home, a little sore from the manipulation, but feeling better – what had stopped me from going in before it got this bad? My back had been bothering me even before all the weekend driving. At this point, sitting here even now, the spot that was out of whack is still very tender, and it may take another trip or two to the chiropractor to make sure it stays put.

Can I make myself go?

I take pretty good care of myself when I’m pregnant. I assign all this worth to the child I’m carrying, and it gives me permission to do all sorts of things – take naps, eat extra ice cream, be forgiving and kind to myself when I fail to meet my expectations.

When I’m no longer growing a human being, it’s SO MUCH HARDER to assign that same value to myself and to keep being kind and treating myself with care.

I see the illogical nature of this. I know I’m valuable as human being even though I’m no longer the vessel for another. And I need to be even more careful to give myself what I need to be the best caregiver to this Deep Squad of ours, with all their complex needs. But instead, I struggle to accommodate even the most basic self care into my life.

It feels like even the small things I do for myself come as a result of a great inner battle. So “bigger” things, like going to the chiropractor, feel monumental. When really, being able to move without a lot of pain shouldn’t be too much to ask, especially if I know a trip to the chiro will fix most of my problems. And taking care of that will help me take better care of my family.

I don’t know how to fix this. I know what to do, but can’t seem to do it. It is frustrating. I don’t want my kids to grow up feeling like they had a martyr for a mother. I want them to see that I took care of myself because I know I’m a child of God and I want to be the best person I can be, for them AND for me.

Untangling this self worth/self care paradigm in real life can feel more twisted than the bones in my spine. But I’m going to keep cracking.