“Whether the changes you seek are big or small this year, accomplishments and successes start with taking care of yourself. Relationships, jobs, and outlooks improve if you make the time for self-care.”
—“How to Make Self-Care a Priority in 2020,” The Chicago Tribune


I set an intention to meditate and download Calm, an app that promises to help me meditate. Later, I berate myself for not using it and delete it in frustration.

I put away the laundry that’s been piling up on my Peloton.

I read an article called “Ten Reasons Why Crying is Good for You” and shed a few tears. For health reasons.

I look at what Gwyneth recommends on Goop, then I go on Amazon to try to find cheap, inferior knock-offs. I am unsatisfied with the products I purchase, but can’t be bothered to return them. I silently curse Gwyneth and her expensive, genital-scented candles.

I search Groupon for deals on massages, then I remember the discounted deep-tissue massage I once got from a woman with surprisingly strong arms and how much it hurt—and not in a “good” way (I forgive you, Katie).

I buy a very soft, very expensive oversized cashmere sweater. Then I put it on top of my Peloton.

I make my own weighted blanket by piling every blanket I own onto my bed, plus adding a few cats on top.

I drink a lot of water and think about how great I feel each of the 75 times I go to the bathroom (where I’m displaying my new genital-scented candle).

I listen to relaxing music until I get irritated by it (thank you again for the Enya recommendation, Katie).

I recharge my crystals by bathing them in the light of a poor-quality SAD lamp.

I take the time to learn new things, like that a group of apes is called a shrewdness.

I download Headspace, another meditation app, which I also forget to use.

I take a detox bath and then work with the EPA to designate the toxins left in my bathtub as a Superfund site.

I nurture my intention to eat more dark chocolate, which everyone knows is full of flavonoids.

I wonder what, exactly, flavonoids are.

I put on a hair mask, making sure my hair can see out of the eye holes in the mask.

I speak with my therapist, Dr. Snuffles, who is a great listener and accepts dog treats as a co-pay.

I drink a cup of herbal tea, which is what I like to call whiskey.

I stock up on organic fruits and vegetables.

I tell Netflix that yes, I am still watching Dance Moms.

I keep a gratitude list, where I write down things I’m grateful for, and an attitude list, where I write down sassy quips I’ve learned from RuPaul.

I practice Whole 30, which means I eat a whole pizza in 30 minutes by myself.

In order to fit into my favorite jeans, I designate a larger pair of jeans as my new favorite. Then I cry until my crystals are fully charged.

I compost all the fruits and vegetables I forgot to eat.

I participate in Dry January by not moisturizing my legs for a week, then dry-brushing my skin until all the rubbing starts a small fire.

I warm myself by the fire while looking at Instagram posts tagged #hygge and seething in jealousy over the ski vacation Gwyneth is taking, even though I don’t ski.

I resolve to learn to ski, despite the fact that I hate heights, cold, snow, the term “après-ski”, hot cocoa, and charming small towns in Vermont where people really like jigsaw puzzles.

I think about purchasing a product that costs $250 and promises to “mimic fasting”, and then I take my money and throw it in a dumpster and set it on fire. Damn it, Gwyneth.

I set a consistent bedtime routine by calling my friend every night at 10 PM and listening to her tell me in excruciating detail all about the new diet and fitness routine she recently started. Then I cry again. For health reasons.


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