Self-Care Vibrations: Story Of The Diamond Toothbrush And The Dildo

I don’t know about you, but sometimes I want to read a person’s story and other times I just want to listen to their voice. I get it! That’s why I’ve also created an audio version of this blog. Enjoy them both! Flic x

I unquestionably, whole-heartedly, absofuckinglutely WILL prioritise myself. 

I wrote those words in my journal one Saturday morning.

I'd woken up, let the cat out, made a cup of tea, and opened up my journal to scribble some thoughts down. 

I've been working on my mental health for a while now. My beloved journal reflections have led me to this point and told me that it was a shit-shame that burnout had happened, especially to the extent of both my physical and mental wellbeing. So now it's time to change old behaviour patterns, alter old perspectives and shake up some of my self-deprecating habits. 

Little did I know that not only had my sub-conscious accepted the challenge, but my bag of badgers were rubbing their little paws with a naughty glint in the eye. Today, it transpires, I was going to learn my first lesson from this new dawn, new day, new life. 

Like all the best Saturdays, today was a loyalty bonus points redemption day at a well-known pharmacy drug store (the maple leaf equivalent of Boots). I can hear the symphony of joyful ahhs from some of you out there who also love a good points card and a bonus points redemption day. What's even better is that I've been saving these glorious fucking points up for a whole year. 

I know, practically orgasmic. 

I don't need to scroll through any websites for point spending inspiration. I'm chasing after the Dyson hairdryer—it’s been on my bloody wish list for years. I've not been quiet about this want. My parents had even sent me birthday money to buy one. But I felt compelled to take the sensible option and used the cash to go towards a mortgage payment, funding more burnout respite.

But today, maybe today, that mighty hairdryer will be mine? 

We all know where this is going, don't we? 

I walk through the shop doors, masked up to the nines and in the full armour of dry shampoo and a big coat to hide my pyjamas/lounge wear, while wreaking of hand sanitiser. As I head to the hair care aisle, I pass a dental display. I stop, I pause and let out the biggest sigh.

Why the sigh? Because I had just taken my boys to the dentist the previous week and it transpires that though they can reprogram and improve the functionality of my phone, TV and laptop, they are somehow completely incapable to remove plaque from their own teeth. The dentist's recommendation? She said “get them a good electric toothbrush. And, are they free next Saturday to reprogram the reception booking system?”

I'm standing there, a figure of my former self, battling to keep my eyes on the prize with the acts of practicality and the needs of my kids blurring my vision. As I exhale, all the dreams of an overpriced, sleek designed hairdryer fade away. 

I pick up the sonic diamond electric toothbrush in one hand and google search reviews in the other. The words: outstanding, life-changing, miracle worker, best electric toothbrush EVER, hit me right between the eyes, along with some gold star review ratings . How can I make this work for all of us? I can't. So I walk to the cashier with a diamond toothbrush under one arm and a packet of Maltesers under the other—because heroic acts like this deserve a breakfast of champions when I get home. 

The points are gone. The hairdryer slips to the bottom of the list, while my boys' dental health skyrockets to the top. It's okay, all good.

Well, that's what I thought. 

I get home and throw my whole self into a sheep dip of antibacterial sanitiser. A fresh brew washes down the bag of brekkie Maltesers. No one is none the wiser. 

Despite my initial disappointment, I'm feeling good about myself. Good about the diamond sonic toothbrush, excited, even, to give it a spin on my pearly whites. It came with 3 brush heads: one for the 11 year old, one for the 14 year old, and one for me. Bingo! My husband has no interest in playing this game. Happy days for a new dawn, a new day, a new life. 

And then the boys wake up and reality kicks in. Cue some unexpected house-shaking arguments and a bucketful of tears to unfold. How the fuck did this celebration take a turn for the worse? 

In all fairness, these are not typical times. Regardless of your age, gender, or situation, we have all been stripped of something with this damn pandemic. Therefore unreasonable behaviour at times is only to be expected from all of us. Especially from hormone-driven, virtual learning teens (boys) and burnt-out Betty in the corner (me). 

Why the tears? Because, unbeknownst to me, the eldest son had been doing research and had a certain (helluva lot cheaper—damn it!) electric toothbrush in mind. This sonic diamond toothbrush in all of its top of the range, cool black design, plaque fearing glory—was not it. 

I sit and seeth internally about the hairdryer I gave up. My ego kicks in and wakes up my bag of badgers. Saturday morning becomes a Saturday shit show. My husband has to step in and try to calm the choppy waters. This becomes one of those life moments where all practicality, rational thought and courtesy goes out the fucking window. The only thing that takes the sting away is that I ate ALL the Maltesers for breakfast. 

Eventually, tempers dissipate, nerves settle, words become less sharp, anger levels soften, and the household tension sinks. Somehow, despite the frayed emotions, we all feel a little better for exploding and releasing some of the "It's not fucking fairs" that have been building up over the past year and storing inside us. 

I look at myself in the mirror as I clean my teeth. I can't help but laugh along with the buzzing. How the hell did I go from making declarations and vows to prioritise myself one minute, to using all my loyalty points in exchange for a diamond sonic toothbrush, the next? 

If anything should be vibrating and shining like a diamond in the palm of my self-care hand, it should be a bloody diamond Dyson or a diamond dildo.

I'll take them both. 

I guess they say change is always challenged. This morning has taught me that life and burnout recovery is not as simple as just writing what I want in my journal. It's about doing the work. It's about showing up every day and making the choices that support me. 

As it happens, I discover that I love this diamond sonic toothbrush. And, after a reluctant 10 minutes in the bathroom, it turns out that both my boys love it too. No plaque or built-up frustrations are to be seen anywhere. This story turns out to be everything that everyone needed. 

I may not have a diamond Dyson or a diamond dildo, but I do possess a diamond dedication to keep working at my mental health. To keep showing up every morning, trying to change habits, patterns, and perspectives.

I felt as mad as a bag of badgers for a few moments there, but I see I'm not alone. This is life. And we all came out the other side by 11.45 am. 

It continues to be a new dawn, a new day, a new life, after all. 

Flic x

P.S. If you know a woman struggling with #everydayburnout please send her this article and tell her from me that she is absofuckinglutely not alone. 

Burnout and feeling as mad as a bag of badgers can really isolate you, and the one true thing I needed on my lowest of low days was to not feel so lonely. 

I see you out there, Sista. Please hold on. It does get better.