The Ritual of Care

I used to think self-care was a luxury — something to do when everything else was done. But I’ve come to realise it’s a quiet rebellion. A remembering.

When I hold something simple — a bar of handmade soap, warm water, the weight of my own hands — I remember that care doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful. It doesn’t have to be expensive or performative. It just needs to be real.

These days, I let the ritual be enough. Not a routine, not a task — a ritual. The kind that doesn’t rush. The kind that asks, how can I love myself more gently today?

Washing, anointing, pausing. Not to scrub something away, but to come home to this body. This breath. This now.

There’s healing in the quiet moments we give ourselves. We don’t need to earn them. We just need to choose them.