“How a Life-Altering Diagnosis Inspired Me to Embrace a Simple Yet Transformative Lifestyle Shift”

A few years back, I came across a book titled Make Your Bed. I mention reading it, but sometimes a book’s title conveys the message itself. Make Your Bed appeared to offer wise, practical guidance even if I was uncertain from the summary whether it targeted someone like me. The publisher labeled it as “an attractively packaged gift book, ideal for Commencement, Father’s Day and the business and military demographic”.

It was founded on a talk delivered to graduates by retired Admiral William H McRaven of the Navy Seals. Being a pacifist, I typically don’t seek advice from individuals in the American military, yet Make Your Bed struck me as credible enough. I pondered over it for some time, made my bed for a week and then quickly reverted to my slovenly, non-bed-making habits.

See, the admiral’s address didn’t resonate back then. Over the past two decades of writing personal columns, the message failing to register has become quite characteristic for me. What typically occurred was I’d write passionately about some marvelous, life-enhancing insight, such as the exhilarating practice of aerial yoga, or the delight of scrambled eggs prepared extraordinarily slowly, and I’d alter my habits for a spell.

[ Róisín Ingle: My profound, challenging, surprisingly joyful, life-changing yearOpens in new window ]

There’d be enthusiastic namastes uttered while entangled in a silk hammock hanging from the ceiling and mornings dedicated to meticulously crafting perfect breakfast dishes before the eventual, unavoidable return to my quick egg-cooking, sedentary tendencies. Over the years I’ve had to face the reality that in the realm of self-betterment, I am one of life’s slowest students.

Circumstances shift, individuals evolve. Last year, after receiving a serious medical diagnosis, the shock drove me to implement several lasting, self-enhancing lifestyle changes. After years of indulging in wine a bit too excessively for my health, often consuming it to dull the pain of life’s ups and downs, I quit alcohol, immediately and for good. There was no quantity of wine that could shield me from the news I’d just received, thus I resolved to forgo it. Additionally, recalling the admiral’s advice, I finally began making my bed consistently for the first time in my life. This ended up being one of the most unexpectedly significant changes.

Turning to Admiral McRaven: “To get up in the morning and accomplish the first task of the day will provide you with the drive to do more. The bed also symbolizes you. Few things in your home are more personal. Tidying your bed reflects your self-discipline, your pride, and your personal routines. If you can’t rise in the morning and make your bed what else might you be incapable of achieving?”

He convinced me until he mentioned “incapable”. Quite the way to bedshame, Admiral. When undergoing intensive medical treatment or striving to disentangle your racing mind from dark thoughts, it’s not beneficial to dwell on what you are “incapable” of doing. It’s wiser to concentrate on what you can accomplish. Therefore, on days I managed to get out of bed, I tidied it. It was something I could oversee. “I made the bed,” I could declare to myself with pride. And if making my bed was the only accomplishment of that day, it was sufficient.

In recent times, making the bed isn’t the elaborate task it once was. At least not in my household. The fitted sheet is in place, so no complex hospital corners are necessary, and after a brief experiment with a top sheet beneath the duvet, I have long abandoned that additional layer of bed-making labor. Thus, when I say “make the bed” it simply involves smoothing the duvet and rearranging the pillows. I’ve also incorporated a couple of other steps, both inspired by the kindness of friends.

Sharing your “news” when faced with a tough medical diagnosis can be challenging. I diversified my approach a bit. I made calls to my siblings. That was difficult. I sent a few group text messages. Easier. And I met some close friends face-to-face to explain what was going on, despite not fully understanding the situation myself. I met one friend in the café at Trinity College. Over salad and coffee, I shared as much as I could. She was already aware that I had received unfortunate news and came bearing a gift. It was a quilt made decades earlier by her wonderful mother, a highly talented artisan, affectionately termed Bunny by the family. She crafted one for each child, capturing their individual styles and personalities. This one showcased tartan-patterned raw silk on one side and an artistic touch of sparkling embroidery on the other.

[ Róisín Ingle: The olds. The youngs. The middles. We’re all just muddling throughOpens in new window ]

This exquisite handmade quilt became a part of my bed-making ritual. And when I married last July, I also received a stunning pink Donegal tweed blanket, one of numerous thoughtful wedding gifts. My treatment continues indefinitely, but I feel resilient, and so far the side effects of the life-saving medications I’m on are minimal. Even so, each morning when I smooth the duvet, arrange the pillows, lay out the blanket and top it with Bunny’s quilt, I feel as if I have accomplished something substantial. Making my bed sets a positive tone for the rest of the day. A hopeful, serene, optimistic, and productive tone. Thanks, Admiral.