I like to think I’m pretty low-maintenance.
I don’t wear a ton of makeup or make a fuss about my hair (most days, it’s moisturizer, undereye concealer, mascara, and a messy topknot for this girl); I don’t get my nails done regularly (I keep them very short and only paint my toenails, which I usually do myself); I don’t spend hours getting dressed or following the latest trends (I pretty much wear the same uniform of leggings or joggers with a white tank top and hoodie on the daily); and I couldn’t care less about most designer clothes, thousand-dollar handbags, or expensive red-bottom shoes (I’m a sneakers-and-athleisurewear-kind-of-girl with an Athleta-level budget).
BUT … when it comes to anything related to my mental and physical health, I have a lot of requirements and demands. My kids (lovingly?) call me low-key high-maintenance.
Growing up, I was told I was picky. Frankly, I prefer the term particular. It stemmed from my picky eating. But over the years, it’s grown to be more than that — largely because of my autoimmune disease (and my anxiety and PTSD).
Living with a chronic illness requires me to do — and not do — certain things to ward off flare-ups.
I have a pretty strict diet and take a bunch of timed medications and supplements, which affect when I eat. I don’t drink out of plastic (glass or stainless steel only) and I only use nontoxic cookware and cleaning supplies. I require between 7-9 hours of sleep to function and I absolutely need to exercise daily (or else I won’t be able to poop and then I’ll be super cranky). My workout time is my therapy (so is actual therapy) and I don’t like to be disturbed or interrupted. I also need time alone on the daily because too much peopling wears me out.
Wow … now that I type that all out, I sound like a real #healthdiva.
In my defense, it’s because I have issues. Many, many issues. But after years of struggling, I’ve finally found the tools that work for me so I can feel good. And at the risk of sounding like a true diva, I refuse to not feel good. #sorrynotsorry.
Not long ago, my dad gave me a small wooden sign that declared my difficult status. Umm, rude … but also not wrong. (I know he meant it lovingly; it’s his style of humor.) Despite the accuracy of the statement, I keep the sign in my en suite because I don’t think it’s necessary to announce it to my houseguests. Besides, those who know me well already know, so why restate the obvious?
As much as I like to think that my high-maintenance ways are limited to my health issues, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to a few vanity-related ones as well. I do have my hair professionally colored every 4-6 weeks, I like to match my sneakers to my leggings/workout clothes, and I did have an 18-month love affair with eyelash extensions earlier in the pandemic era, so there’s that.
In the grand scheme of things, I’m really not that high-maintenance; I know many women who are way more high-maintenance than me (and yes, some who are more low-key). Being labeled low-key high-maintenance is actually pretty spot on. Besides, my people love me as I am, so I’ll take it.
-LJDT
