I’ve intentionally returned to the idea of intentional self‑care. As a single, working mom, my version of self‑care usually looks like arriving at the gym early enough to sit in my car—coffee in hand, feel‑good music blasting—before I (mostly willingly) drag myself inside to start my workout. Other days, it’s wandering around Target with the same coffee, listening to a podcast, and pretending I’m a textile expert while investigating the thread count of every sheet set in the aisle.
Sometimes it’s writing. Sometimes it’s painting. Sometimes it’s rewatching New Girl or The Office for the fourth time while simultaneously watching farm reels on Instagram like I’m preparing to buy a goat. Either way, it’s almost never intentional… it’s more like “accidental self‑care,” or “if I don’t work out, my head might actually explode and no one will be able to rein in the tiny (funny, but very fast and mischievous) monster within.”
Still, I’m trying to shift my mindset. Instead of thinking self‑care = uninterrupted “me time,” I’m learning that self‑care = taking actions that tend to the parts of me that deeply deserve to be nurtured. The parts that have been patient. The parts that have been waiting. The parts that need more than a quiet moment in the car before leg day.
Tweak 3 is all about letting go and building up. In my last post, I talked about the tangible ways I’ve been decluttering—kids’ toys, emails, text messages. I’m down to 830 emails and ZERO unread text messages, by the way. (Takes bow. Holds for applause.)
So this week, while I’m doing some of my… what’s the equivalent of comfort food for self‑care activities? Nervous‑system snacks? Emotional carbs? Whatever we’re calling them—things like working out, drinking coffee, and mindlessly browsing through bookstores, Target, and TJMaxx—I’m also focusing on creating emotional space. The kind that frees up room for joy, love, patience, by clearing out the old, dingy feelings that are starting to look and feel a lot like my old skinny jeans. (You know… the ones I promised to chuck in my last post.)
I’m not the New Year’s Resolution type. I’m more the “start a series of small, 12‑week tweaks that accidentally start a fkn movement” kinda gal. But I would like to think about this part of my process as the things I refuse to bring into 2026 because they don’t serve me.
- Doing it all. Every. Single. Fucking. Thing. Over‑functioning while others mid‑way function. Bye to whatever that is. Yes, I can do it. Yes, I often do it because I have a deep‑rooted (and annoyingly validated) belief that I’ll do it better than anyone else. But also… NO ONE ASKED ME TO. So how do I approach this? Do I just… do nothing? Honestly, maybe.
- Being quick to prioritize others’ emotions and slow to tend to my own. I love y’all, but damn. I am excellent at communicating my feelings—but the follow‑through? The actual tending? That’s where I need to put in some reps. I can be a “tell me how you’re feeling” lady and a “I need to prioritize my [insert adjective here] today” woman. Both can exist. Both should exist.
- Closing the loop. This one feels personal. Should I write about it? Is this a mindful‑journaling‑only confession rather than a “public blog post that will live on the internet forever” moment? Hmm… fuck it, I guess. A big goal for this year is (respectfully) closing the door. On relationships that don’t serve me. On friendships that once were, but now… just aren’t—and that’s okay. On connections that feel like white noise. On relationships that feel more “I guess I should” than “I can’t wait!”
This isn’t about bitterness. It’s about emotional space. It’s about choosing energy that feels reciprocal, warm, and alive. It’s about letting the past stay in the past without dragging it into 2026 like an emotional fanny pack. This is an exercise in escaping the cesspool of analysis I spend far too much time swimming in—letting these decisions be methodical and logical instead of the one‑woman circus currently happening inside my head. And believe me… it’s often a circus.
Ok lovely reader(s), this post was really, real. I’ve loved spending the past few weeks digging into the cute stuff—journaling, creating, playing with the softer edges of this project—but if this 12‑week tweak thing is actually going to be life‑changing, the real part is essential. The honest, raw conversations are about to begin in earnest.
After all, a sane person with two young children, a full‑time job, and a part‑time job does not casually decide to take on a pet project if the status quo is working just fine. These 12 weeks—and the next 12, and the 12 after that—are meant to create the kind of pressure that turns me into something brilliant.
Even though, honestly, I’m perfectly happy being a handful of enthusiastic carbon atoms with big dreams.
