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We’ve turned “self-care” into something we can sell.
Candles. Spa days. Vision boards.
Bubble baths, with a side of lavender essential oil.
Don’t get me wrong—those things are lovely. But they’re not the kind of self-care that saved my life.
Real self-care?
It’s standing in the mirror, looking at yourself with honesty, and saying:
I can’t keep living like this.
It’s walking away from the relationship that’s draining your soul.
It’s setting boundaries that disappoint people you love.
It’s saying “no” even when your voice shakes.
It’s deciding that you matter—even when you were raised to believe otherwise.
For years, I wore strength like armor. I was the reliable one. The achiever. The woman who could handle anything. But beneath that performance was exhaustion. Resentment. Silence.
I thought self-care was selfish. I didn’t know that rest was resistance. That healing was a radical act.
It wasn’t until my life cracked open—through a painful divorce, trauma I couldn’t keep ignoring, and a career shift I didn’t see coming—that I realized I had two choices: break down or break through.
I chose to break through.
Not all at once.
Not with a pretty morning routine or a perfect mindset.
But with small, courageous acts—one at a time.
Some days, self-care looked like writing one line in a journal.
Other days, it looked like walking into a boardroom and refusing to shrink.
It looked like therapy. Tears. Truth-telling.
And it looked like choosing not to be defined by my past.
I want to remind you:
Self-care is not soft.
It’s fierce.
It’s the daily work of reclaiming yourself.
It’s the decision to stop abandoning yourself—no matter what the world asks of you.
And it’s not always pretty.
But it is always worth it.
~
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