Looking after yourself not just about the pampering

My mother was beautiful, inside out, and top to toe.

Externally, she really didn’t do much to be as beautiful as she was: Oil of Olay and warm water, plus a dab of Revlon foundation, were her go-to items for decades.

I grew up in similar fashion, eschewing spa days for books and chocolate, relieved to be genetically blessed with easy hair and acne-free skin.

There was plenty to work on, including a tendency to gain weight, but I just couldn’t be bothered.

Some girls love a pamper, others don’t.

As witness to the devastating effects of poverty, and interviewing every type of person from every walk of life, I found it increasingly difficult to prioritise self-care as a component of a pyramid of needs.

It’s difficult to justify, or embrace, the concept of pedicures when finding clean water, or a scrap of toilet paper (or a working toilet, or any toilet at all) are daily challenges.

It was always easy for me, as a middle-class, working person, to take care of the basics: shower goodies, running water, deodorant, the odd boxed hair colour and a lipstick or two from Clicks.

For others in dire circumstances, a bar of soap becomes the gold standard of success, shared between a family of ten.

Many excellent initiatives aim to address the importance of self-care and hygiene as basic human rights.

There are drives to provide sanitary items to schoolgirls across SA, for example, and the unsung heroes who pioneer these projects must be celebrated and robustly supported.

The funny thing is that, despite my aversion to pampering for all the reasons listed above, I have won a “makeover competition”, quite unexpectedly.

It’s not something that appeals to me, and I’m not good at sticking to complicated, or multi-level routines that promise better skin and street appeal.

Surprisingly, though, and as my friend Taryn predicted (she who nominated me, nogal), I loved my first session with Anne of B’ardau, regardless of my initial predilection to cancel, or postpone.

Anne, a former paramedic, was the antithesis of my perception of “beauty salon” philosophy, and her desire to become involved in the medical field, in the first place, was spurred by wanting to help people.

I walked away with some knowledge about my skin, and about some shady aspects of the cosmetics industry (a story worthy of investigation) — but more importantly, I put to bed my dislike of pampering, and after some introspection, understood the deeper reasons why.

There is something fulfilling and energising about being cared for by another person, on any level, and for any reason. To feel calmed, beautified and relaxed about oneself must have a hormonal impact, as much as a psychological benefit.

Once we have ensured basic survival — water, food and shelter — it would be beneficial, far more than we realise, to provide people with a soothing, loving experience, akin to a “spa day”, despite the fact that it’s likely to last for such a short time and represents the antithesis of a life lived in desperate socio-economic straits.

I used to think that “pampering” was a rich-girl thing, and so subconsciously rejected it.

I understand now, after how my B’ardau experience made me feel, that it’s as much a human right as anything else.

The image that came to mind was of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples.

In any religion or language, that’s a powerful statement.

Perhaps, if we could wash the feet of someone whose soles have blackened and torn from the wear and tear of strained existence, we might understand the secret benefit of pampering, and be more inclined to do it for each other, all the time.