Mental Health Weekend

Turn off the news, enjoy the silence, and meet your family

In early January, I was, for the first time in years, alone in the house with no one but the dogs. For an entire weekend.

It was heaven. The reason it was great wasn’t because I was the only human in the bed at night and could use the real estate any way I wanted (as long as I didn’t disrupt the dogs). What really happened was that I slept in the exact same location and direction I always do, because dogs are creatures of habit and did not instinctively flow into my husband’s usual location; so, neither could I.

It wasn’t fantastic because I could eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted (as long as I gave some to the dogs). Like the good, high-fat Aussie-style yogurt for breakfast, topped with a mountain of fresh berries and a healthy fistful of pricey granola, midmorning Saturday after dropping my husband off at LAX. Saturday lunch? Who needs it after that transcendent breakfast? Dinner: a takeout tostada at about 5 PM, and good to go for the rest of the day.

Don’t judge me for 5 PM dinner. Yes, I’m old, but also, I’ve eaten dinner early all my life. Late night eating isn’t one of my many vices.

The weekend wasn’t magnificent because I could sleep in on Sunday morning. I really couldn’t. See: dogs. It wasn’t even that I could write two articles from soup to nuts, uninterrupted. From kernels of ideas to two full-grown published stories, in two days. Never before, and possibly never again!

The real reason

It was a glorious, stress-relieving time because the TV was off that entire weekend. Except for two end-of season NFL games, both nailbiters, on Sunday afternoon, of course.

Not only was the TV off, there was no cable news to be seen or heard in the entire house — not from the TV, not from a computer, not from any device. No cable news. Not one solitary pixel or sound bite of cable news.

And that, my friends, made all the difference.

Cut the [cable] cord

Normally, cable news is on all day at our house, except when we switch over to a streaming service for a show or to watch the occasional network sitcom or drama. Until it’s gone, you don’t realize how crazy-making that background noise is. Our default is TV on, tuned to cable news (not FOX, the other guys).

Whenever he steps out of the house or is in another part of it, I mute that shit, with prejudice, or turn it off. With even greater prejudice. Because it drives me batshit up a wall.

To have it just be off and stay off, without having to manage its volume or hear even snippets that drive up my blood pressure, was the most self-caring thing I have done in a very long time. More self-caring than any trip to a spa or hairstylist or even a trip to the doctor, dentist, or orthodontist, although having my teeth straightened is high up there.

That weekend, it was just the dogs and me. No interlopers or provocateurs. No uninvited guests. No talking heads. No panels of experts. No “analysts.”

I’ve always been a fan of both solitude and silence. Solitude is so healing for me, I spent six months basking in it after 14 years of religious cult trauma. Silence is so much more than golden, so much more precious than diamonds, for me.

I’ve written before, about the healing power of the dog. That weekend, I tapped into it and drank it at the source.

Deep, restorative, and loving: silence around me and a dog or two in my arms.

A break from the news —especially cable — is therapeutic because cable news doesn’t exist to inform. It exists for its shareholders’ profit, and profits are made by generating emotions in the consumer. And, of course, the most profitable emotions are not warm and fuzzy — they are jagged and dissonant. Fury. Outrage. Hate. Disgust. Fear. This is why putting down that remote, backing away slowly, and embracing your family members and pets instead of hurling insults or projectiles at a screen or each other is so restorative of our humanity.

For two whole days, our house was silent except for occasional canine comments about a passing squirrel or turtledove. It was gloriously, sanatively, remedially silent.

For two days, instead of angrily jamming “mute” or “off” buttons, I took deep breaths. I did full-body stretches. I rubbed tummies, handed out treats and toys, threw balls for retrieval, and buried my face in sweet-smelling scruffs. I watched the dogs live in the moment. I journaled at will, then turned random thoughts into sentences, sentences into articles, and articles into published work. I read novels during the daytime — even in the mornings — not just in bed at night. My phone was on mute for anyone but my husband. I let emails go unanswered.

I let go.

Even now, weeks later, I can still tap into that wellspring of wellbeing. I just have to stop whatever I’m doing that, in the moment, seems so important the world might end if it isn’t done. I stop. I think about that weekend’s solitude and its silence. That thought stream flows into a river and then an ocean, into greater perspective about what is important.

What is important is living your best life, moment by moment, doing the best you can to serve fellow humans. To preserve other life forms and our planet home. Does that frantic breaking news headline or chyron really matter even one second after it drops?

No, it does not. So, turn off the news. Enjoy the silence. Enjoy who or what is in front of you.

Enjoy what’s real.