There was a period last year when everything seemed to go wrong at once. I was dealing with a family health crisis, work stress was at an all-time high, and I felt like I was barely keeping my head above water. During this time, I made the mistake of treating self-care as the first thing to go when things got tough.

For most of my adult life, I thought saying yes to everything was synonymous with being a good person. Friend needs help moving? Yes. Colleague wants you to cover their shift? Yes. Family member wants you to drive two hours for a last-minute dinner? Yes, of course.

When people talk about physical self-care, I used to immediately think of intense workout routines or complicated meal prep. As someone who's never been naturally athletic and has a complicated relationship with food, this always made me feel like I was failing before I even started.

I've always been that person who checks her phone before even getting out of bed. Social media notifications, news updates, work emails – it felt like staying connected was staying relevant.

Last Tuesday, I found myself in the middle of a particularly chaotic day. My to-do list was longer than my arm, emails were piling up, and I had three meetings back-to-back. But instead of powering through like I usually do, I did something radical – I drew myself a bath at 2 PM and spent an hour just... breathing.

Last month, I said yes to three social events, two work projects, and helping a friend move – all in the same week. By Friday, I was stressed, overwhelmed, and resentful. Not because anyone asked too much of me, but because I'd said yes to things I didn't have capacity for, then blamed everyone else for my exhaustion.

I spent fifteen years of my life thinking about food constantly. Not because I loved cooking or was passionate about nutrition, but because I was trapped in a cycle of restriction, overthinking, and guilt around eating. I knew the calorie count of most foods, could estimate portions with scientific precision, and had a complicated relationship with every meal.

I used to feel like a fraud at the gym. Everyone around me seemed to have their routine perfectly planned, wore matching workout sets, and actually looked forward to lifting weights. Me? I was the person who would spend 20 minutes walking slowly on the treadmill, occasionally stopping to check my phone and pretend I was warming up.

Last Tuesday, I worked a 12-hour day, got home at 9 PM, and faced the same question that haunts every exhausted person: "What am I going to eat?" My old self would have ordered takeout, felt guilty about it, and spent the next morning bloated and tired.

I'll be honest with you – I've tried every morning routine imaginable. The 5 AM wake-up calls, the elaborate 20-step skincare rituals, the meditation sessions that ended in me falling asleep on my yoga mat. What finally clicked wasn't another elaborate system, but something surprisingly simple.