Self-Care Isn’t a Hashtag. It’s Maintenance.

For most of my life, I couldn't have answered this question:

When was the last time you did something just for yourself — without guilt, without multitasking, without asking permission?

I was too busy. There was always somebody who needed something. An appointment. A phone call. A crisis. A favour. Everyone else first. Always.

Then, this winter, a brain aneurysm ruptured. The specialists who put me on a plane from Launceston to Hobart didn't expect me to survive the flight.

I did. And I came out the other side with an answer to that question I wish I'd found decades earlier.

If you're drawing a blank too, that's not a personal failure. It's conditioning. We've been trained to put everyone else first.

You know the safety announcement: if the plane's going down, your oxygen mask goes on first. I used to hear that as a metaphor. I don't anymore. Not because you're selfish — because you're useless to anyone if you're unconscious.

Self-care isn't indulgence. It's maintenance. I learned that the hard way. You don't have to.

These are my non-negotiables now.

Love, but don't forget you

If you hand out love like confetti, when did you last offer even a crumb of it inward? Try saying, “I love you. You're not perfect, and that's okay.” Say it out loud. If it feels awkward, you're overdue.

Build a no-entry zone

You need a space where nobody wants snacks, emotional labour, or your Netflix login. Ten minutes in the car counts. Make it yours. Guard it like it's sacred.

Drop the grudge, not your standards

Stewing over something from five years ago isn't helping. Forgiveness isn't approval — it's freedom. You're not excusing behaviour; you're releasing yourself from carrying it. We all have our own perceptions. Recognising that is tough, but necessary.

Nearly dying is a fast way to find out which grudges are worth the weight. Almost none are.

Acknowledge the damn wins

You got through the day. You ate. You kept everyone you look after fed, medicated and alive. You didn't scream into a pillow (or only did once). Win.

Washed your hair? Took out the bins? Replied to that text from three weeks ago? Parade.

These days my wins include writing a sentence with a hand that still shakes. You deserve a fucking parade. So do I.

Make stuff (badly if needed)

Half-burnt cake, crooked crochet, questionable art — who cares. It doesn't have to be good. It just has to be yours.

Notice what's good

Hot shower. Honest laugh. A message from someone who gets it. Small things, big impact. Keep them in your pocket for the days when the world feels heavy. I watch how people show up for each other — tiny gestures, casual kindness — and take it as proof the world isn't as bleak as it sometimes feels.

Log off before you spiral

Doom-scrolling at midnight isn't soothing — it's sabotage. Try twenty-four hours off socials this week. Watch your brain unclench.

Reclaim the way you move

Forget workouts that feel like punishment. Dance in the kitchen. Walk in the morning light. Punch a cushion. Movement should feel satisfying, not like you're settling a debt to your body.

After my stroke, I had to learn to trust my body again. Every walk is a conversation, not a contest. You don't owe your body penance — you owe it presence.

Boundaries that actually protect you

For most of my life, I thought I had boundaries. What I really had were responsibilities. I still carried other people's problems home. I still worried. I still rescued. I still absorbed.

A real boundary protects your energy, your health and your peace, not just your calendar. If something leaves you drained or doubting yourself, that's your cue. Sometimes the boundary is walking away from something you love, because staying would cost more than you can afford. I resigned from a job I loved for exactly that reason.

You don't need a reason to set a boundary. You are the reason.

Taste the food

Not while working. Not standing. Not multitasking. At least once a day, sit down and enjoy your food. It's a basic pleasure, not a luxury.

Later isn't guaranteed

Self-care doesn't require candles or hashtags. It requires intention.

I spent most of my sixty-four years believing there would always be time later. Time to rest. Time to look after my health. Time to ask what I needed. Later isn't guaranteed. I know that now in a way I can't unknow.

You don't owe the world your exhaustion. You owe yourself the truth: you matter. Full stop.

If you'd like the longer story of how I learned this, read my essay Recovering Myself.