Rethinking Self-Care

Rethinking Self-Care in the Midst of Grief and Mental Struggle "Self-care"—it’s a word that’s almost become a prescription. Whenever life becomes overwhelming, we’re told to practice self-care. Meditate, exercise, take a walk, light a candle, write in a journal. As if those rituals can universally soothe the heaviness we carry. But I find myself asking—is self-care really possible in all situations? Especially when you’re deep in grief or grappling with mental health challenges? In the past few months, I’ve come to realize that the traditional definition of self-care doesn't always apply. For someone grieving, like me, or for someone who struggled with anxiety and depression, like Sana, self-care didn’t look like green smoothies and yoga. It looked like survival. I cannot bring myself to meditate. I cannot get on a mat and do stretches or journal my thoughts. I know these are beautiful practices that have helped many—but for me, right now, self-care looks like... doing nothing. Sitting in silence. Staring at the wall. Crying without restraint. Or simply getting through a day without pretending to be okay. Is that self-care? I believe it is. I used to talk about self-care with Sana often. We were told that it was the way to feel better. But Sana struggled with those suggestions. She couldn’t sit still and breathe deeply when her mind was spinning. She couldn’t keep a gratitude journal when all she felt was exhaustion. All she wanted was the comfort of watching her favorite shows on Netflix, shows that gave her an escape. That was her version of self-care. And maybe that’s what we need to start embracing—a broader, more compassionate definition of what it means to care for ourselves. Self-care isn't a one-size-fits-all solution. It’s not a miracle cure. Sometimes, self-care is just giving yourself permission to feel. To grieve. To be messy and quiet and angry. To not do anything "productive." So if you’re grieving, or hurting, or supporting someone who is, please know this: your self-care might not look like the world’s version of it—and that’s okay. Just staying afloat is enough. And sometimes, that's the most powerful form of