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Ever since I had my son, the routines that once anchored me fell apart.
I found myself navigating an unfamiliar life that looked nothing like the one I had before becoming a mother. Slowly, over the years (especially after my son turned two), I began reclaiming small parts of my time.
I was determined to rebuild what I used to call my self-care rituals: reading, baking, watching a series, journaling, and drawing. Whenever I had a free moment, I would rush and do something that made me feel like me again; it was a way to reconnect with who I was before motherhood. At the time, that routine felt so healthy and real.
Returning to my old routine felt like a victory…or so I thought.
Fast-forward a few months, and the very rituals that were meant to restore “me” were doing the exact opposite. I was burning out. I was supposed to be unwinding, yet I was failing at the practices that used to make me feel grounded and fulfilled.
What went wrong? Why were the things that used to bring me back to life suddenly draining every bit of my energy?
It took a cycle of trial, error, and much frustration to realize something I had never noticed before: the problem wasn’t the activities themselves; it was my approach to healing.
After giving birth, I was desperate to feel whole again. I assumed recovery required active effort during my precious, personal time. So, I filled my schedule with endless habits. Even when I was tired and my body begged for sleep, I would force myself to sit up and read with half-closed eyes, treating reading like a mandatory practice.
Now, I can see the trap: true rest doesn’t come from adding more items to our self-care to-do list. It comes from doing less.
Looking back, I realized I had never actually learned how to rest. Even during downtime, I was always doing—reading, baking, gardening—and calling it recovery. I never allowed myself to simply do nothing. That concept was, and still is, deeply uncomfortable.
It often feels as if someone is walking right behind me with a stopwatch, constantly reminding me how quickly 24 hours can vanish. This urgency isn’t just mine; it’s everywhere. We live in a culture so conditioned for constant doing that seeing someone sit in stillness feels awkward. We judge inaction and frame it as laziness or apathy because we’ve been taught that our worth is tied to our productivity. For a long time, doing nothing felt like failure.
But dropping this rigid structure changed everything for me. Now, I let my state of mind dictate my choices. I read when my curiosity strikes. I bake when the urge to create is real. I draw when inspiration shows up naturally. I no longer run my personal life on a strict schedule because I’ve learned that authentic self-care is simply honoring where we are in the moment.
What is the point of a self-care routine if it ignores what my body is actually asking for? How does reading a chapter benefit me if my nervous system is screaming for sleep?
When self-care becomes exhausting, our instinct is to swap one habit for another. We trade journaling for meditation, or yoga for walking, and keep adding and subtracting until we are completely depleted. But the fatigue doesn’t come from the activity itself; it comes from forcing it.
Ask yourself honestly: How do I feel about what I’m doing right now? Do I need this moment to be productive, or do I need something else entirely?
Sometimes, genuine recovery requires no action at all. It might look like sitting outside to watch the trees, lying in bed staring at the ceiling, or sitting on the couch for 10 minutes just to breathe and exist without a goal.
Real self-care isn’t another project to master. It is giving ourselves unconditional permission to follow our internal cues—without an ounce of guilt.
Real healing doesn’t require us to do more; it asks us to step back. So give yourself permission to clear the schedule, listen to what your body is requesting, and embrace the simple freedom of just being.
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author: Elyane Youssef
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