When you hear the words selfcare, what comes to mind?
Perhaps it’s going for a run, spending an hour at the gym, preparing a nutritious meal, meditating, or following a carefully planned morning routine. Maybe you picture skincare, a relaxing bath, a weekend retreat, or someone drinking a green smoothie in a beautifully lit kitchen.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with any of these things. They can all be wonderful ways to look after ourselves.
But I’ve been thinking about how much our understanding of selfcare has been shaped by the images we’re constantly exposed to. Somewhere along the way, we’ve developed a fairly narrow idea of what looking after ourselves is supposed to look like.
And I wonder whether that has made something that should support us feel like yet another thing we’re expected to get right.
We’ve been sold an image of selfcare
Self-care has become a familiar feature of social media, wellness marketing and everyday conversations about mental health. We’re encouraged to exercise, eat well, sleep enough, meditate, establish routines and make time for ourselves.
Many of these suggestions have genuine value. Looking after our physical health, getting enough rest and finding ways to manage stress can all contribute to our wellbeing.
The problem isn’t the activities themselves. It’s the assumption that they represent a universal formula for feeling better.
When the same images and recommendations appear repeatedly, it’s easy to internalise the idea that this is what selfcare should look like. We start measuring our own efforts against someone else’s version of a healthy, balanced life.
And if we don’t enjoy those activities, can’t maintain the routines, or simply don’t have the capacity to do them, we might begin to feel as though we’re not looking after ourselves properly.
But what if the problem isn’t that we’re bad at selfcare? What if we’ve been given a definition that’s too narrow to accommodate the many different ways people live, feel and experience the world?
Selfcare is personal
One of the most important things to recognise is that selfcare is subjective. What genuinely supports one person might do very little for another.
For some people, running is a brilliant form of selfcare. It gives them time outside, helps them regulate their emotions and leaves them feeling energised.
For others, running is something they dread. They force themselves out of bed every morning because they’ve been told exercise is essential, spend the entire time wishing it were over, and feel guilty when they don’t go.
That doesn’t mean exercise is bad. It means running might not be the right way for that person to meet their needs.
There are other ways to move our bodies. There are other ways to find calm, experience enjoyment, connect with people and make space for ourselves.
The same applies to meditation, journalling, elaborate morning routines and other activities commonly recommended as self-care.
You can recognise that something works well for another person without needing to make it part of your own life.
And you can experiment with different approaches without assuming that every suggestion should eventually become a habit.
Selfcare isn’t about finding the one perfect routine. It’s about learning what actually supports you.
Sometimes selfcare looks unconventional
I think some of the most interesting examples of selfcare are the ones we don’t immediately recognise as selfcare.
We tend to associate looking after ourselves with doing something that appears healthy, productive or purposeful. But sometimes the most supportive thing we can do is simply make life a little easier.
Perhaps you’ve had a demanding week and decide to order takeaway rather than cook. Maybe you’re on holiday and want to enjoy the food available without turning every meal into an assessment of whether you’re making the healthiest choice.
Perhaps you cancel plans because you realise you don’t have the energy to socialise. You leave the washing until tomorrow. You spend an afternoon watching a familiar television series, playing a game, reading, or becoming completely absorbed in a special interest.
Maybe you put on the most comfortable clothes you own rather than an outfit you feel you should wear.
These things might not look like the glossy version of self-care we’re accustomed to seeing. But they can be ways of responding to our needs, reducing unnecessary demands, finding enjoyment or allowing ourselves to rest.
Of course, no activity is automatically selfcare for everyone. Avoiding something important can sometimes create more stress later, and rest doesn’t always meet every need we have.
The point isn’t that takeaway is better than cooking, or that cancelling plans is always the right decision. It’s that we should be able to consider what we need without dismissing an option simply because it doesn’t fit the conventional image.
Self-care doesn’t have to be impressive. It doesn’t need to be photogenic. And it doesn’t need to look productive to have value.
Selfcare isn’t an instant fix
Another thing worth considering is the expectation that self-care should make us feel better immediately.
We go for a run and wonder why we’re still stressed. We try meditation and discover that our thoughts haven’t suddenly become quiet. We have an early night but wake up still feeling exhausted.
It’s easy to conclude that the strategy hasn’t worked, or that we’re doing something wrong. But selfcare isn’t an instant cure for everything we’re experiencing.
Some activities may provide immediate relief. Others might become more helpful when practised regularly. Some may help us cope with a situation without removing the underlying difficulty.
And sometimes an activity simply isn’t the right approach for us.
One walk won’t necessarily resolve prolonged exhaustion. A relaxing bath won’t fix an overwhelming workload. A morning routine can’t remove every barrier we encounter when we’re struggling with executive functioning.
These things can still be worthwhile. We just need to recognise their limits.
Self-care can be one part of looking after ourselves, but it isn’t a substitute for the practical changes, relationships, professional support or other resources we might need.
If something isn’t helping, we can reconsider it. We can try a different approach. We can also recognise when the problem is bigger than an individual habit can address.
We don’t have to keep repeating something that isn’t working simply because we’ve been told it should.
Selfcare shouldn’t become another skill to perfect
I think there’s another trap we can fall into when we start thinking about selfcare: treating it as something we need to master.
We find a routine that looks promising. We try to follow it consistently. We miss a day, then another. We feel guilty, decide we need to try harder, and perhaps search for an even better routine.
Before long, selfcare has become another measure of our discipline, consistency or productivity.
Something intended to support our wellbeing has become a source of pressure.
This is particularly worth reflecting on if you already find routines, planning or consistency difficult. When everyday life requires considerable effort, adding a long list of supposedly essential wellness habits can create more demands than it removes.
You might start believing that if you could only organise yourself better, exercise more consistently, eat better, meditate regularly and maintain the perfect routine, you’d finally feel okay.
But you don’t have to become exceptionally good at selfcare to deserve care.
You don’t need a perfect routine. You don’t need to get it right every day. And you don’t need to turn every difficult feeling into a problem that must be solved through another habit.
Sometimes you will do the things that support you. Sometimes you won’t have the capacity. Sometimes your needs will change.
That doesn’t mean you’ve failed.
Your needs can change with your circumstances
Selfcare isn’t only individual; it’s contextual.
What supports us can change depending on what’s happening in our lives, how much energy we have, what responsibilities we’re carrying and what resources are available to us.
During a relatively calm period, you might enjoy cooking, exercising, socialising and maintaining a routine. When work becomes demanding, you’re dealing with a major life change, or you’re recovering from a difficult experience, those same activities might feel much harder to manage.
Perhaps you once found a busy social calendar energising but currently need more time alone. Maybe you used to enjoy going to the gym but now need gentler movement and more rest. Or perhaps you’ve spent so long resting that getting outside and doing something enjoyable would feel supportive.
Your needs aren’t fixed, and your version of self-care doesn’t have to be fixed either.
This is why it can be unhelpful to search for one universal list of habits that everyone should follow. A list can provide ideas, but it can’t tell you exactly what you need at every point in your life.
Instead, it may help to pause and ask yourself what is happening right now.
Am I exhausted? Am I lonely? Am I overwhelmed by noise or demands? Am I feeling disconnected from things I enjoy? Do I need practical help, some movement, a quieter environment, connection with another person, or simply a little less pressure?
The answers might change from day to day.
The aim isn’t to develop a perfect ability to identify every need. It’s simply to become more open to recognising that your needs are allowed to change.
A note on selfcare and neurodivergence
For neurodivergent people, conventional advice about selfcare can sometimes overlook the effort involved in everyday life.
A routine that looks simple on paper may involve many individual steps. Preparing a meal can require planning, shopping, decision making and managing sensory preferences. Going to the gym might involve travel, changing clothes, navigating a busy environment and coping with noise.
Even activities that are intended to be relaxing can create demands.
For some autistic and ADHD people, reducing sensory input, spending time alone, using familiar comforts, engaging with a special interest or making everyday tasks easier may be particularly helpful. For others, movement, social connection or novelty might be important.
There is no single neurodivergent version of selfcare, either.
The useful question isn’t whether an activity is considered a good habit by other people. It’s whether it meets a need, supports your wellbeing or makes your life more manageable.
It’s also important not to turn this into another expectation. You don’t need to constantly analyse yourself or find the perfect personalised strategy. Sometimes it is enough to notice that something feels too demanding and give yourself permission to consider an alternative.
And if you’re experiencing ongoing distress, burnout or difficulties that are affecting your everyday life, selfcare habits alone may not be enough. Seeking appropriate support is also a way of looking after yourself.
Finding what works for you
If you’re trying to rethink your relationship with selfcare, you don’t need to start by creating a new routine.
You could begin with a few simple questions.
What genuinely helps me?
Think about activities, environments and experiences that leave you feeling more settled, connected, rested or able to manage your day. They don’t have to resemble conventional wellness activities.
What am I doing because I think I should?
Consider whether certain habits are genuinely useful to you or whether you’re maintaining them mainly because you’ve been told they’re essential.
What do I have the capacity for right now?
Your needs and your available energy don’t always match. Sometimes the most useful approach is to find a smaller, simpler or more accessible way of meeting a need.
What has changed in my life?
An approach that worked previously may not fit your current circumstances. You are allowed to reassess it.
Am I expecting one activity to fix something much bigger?
Selfcare can help, but it cannot resolve every source of stress or difficulty. You may need practical changes, support from others or professional help as well.
You don’t need to answer these questions perfectly. They’re simply invitations to reflect, experiment and adjust.
And if you discover that something isn’t working for you, you can change your approach without treating it as a personal failure.
Selfcare doesn’t have to be another thing you get right
I’ve been reflecting on how much our understanding of selfcare can be shaped by what we’re repeatedly shown and told.
Even when we know that people are different, it’s easy to absorb the idea that looking after ourselves should follow a particular formula.
But self-care doesn’t have to look the same for everyone. It doesn’t have to produce an immediate result. It doesn’t have to be something you love every single time, and it isn’t another skill you need to perfect.
Sometimes it’s going for a walk. Sometimes it’s ordering dinner, cancelling plans or spending an afternoon doing something simply because you enjoy it.
Sometimes it means trying a different approach. Sometimes it means acknowledging that you need more support than a wellness habit can provide.
And sometimes it means letting go of the pressure to turn every aspect of your life into a self improvement project.
You don’t have to find the universally correct version of selfcare. You can find what supports you, in the life you’re living, at the time you’re living it.
I’d love to know: what does selfcare genuinely look like for you, particularly when life is difficult? Is there something you do that helps you but doesn’t fit the conventional image of selfcare?
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