Self-Care: More Than a Checklist

By Bethany Dowell

As October’s Halloween excitement fades and I’m pulled into the reality of deadline season approaching, my social media algorithms have been flooded with the idealisation of “locking in” for the final stretch of semester one. As a consequence, alongside completing readings, writing 3,000 words and attending society meetings, I feel burdened with the daily reminders to walk 10,000 steps, drink 2 litres of water and journal before sleeping for nine hours. On social media, it seems as though completing these ritualistic tasks will solve my panic over deadlines and the post-reading-week slump. They promise, falsely, to be the source of optimal focus. While having routine does help me cope with stress, self-care has transformed into a performative marketing tactic that is ignorant of other lifestyle factors such as personal relationships, interests and hobbies. Self-care is sold to us as a measured list of things we should invest time and money into, a list that should be checked off hourly, daily and weekly.  

It’s undeniable that physical-health-related improvements have been monetised for a very long time. On apps like TikTok and Instagram, every few scrolls feature influencers recommending a “revolutionary” tool or subscription that is going to boost well-being and maximise productivity. For example, instead of allowing my body to rest for a few extra hours, I’ve been pressured into buying sleep supplements to solve my fatigue, rather than recognising that I probably spent one too many hours binge-watching Plebs. Rather than taking a break from the essay that’s plastered on my computer screen, it becomes my fault it’s incomplete because I haven’t invested in the latest abnormally large lifestyle planner sold on TikTok Shop.  While these items could be useful, they shouldn’t be depended on and substituted for recognising the causes of exhaustion.  

Source: Pinterest

From this, we can see that the commodification of self-care has become a performance, where we feel influenced in believing that our every move must contribute to the unattainable standards of eternal productivity by “investing in health.”  We aren’t encouraged to recognise exhaustion, but to manage and downplay it through consumerism. The phrase “power through” now implies that we must suppress any signs of burnout —fatigue, brain fog, lack of focus— to be productive and only productive. We tune into 5 AM morning routines as glamorous measures of success, comparing our lifestyles against curated content that advocates for endurance, while selling the products showcased.  

Exercise, eating nutrient-dense foods and journaling can be beneficial for general health and well-being. Personally, these habits help clear my mind after a long day of classes and fuel my motivation to perform other tasks such as household chores or extracurricular administration. However, these aspects of self-care become unhealthy when they are obsessively measured and scored to determine if a day has been “successful”.  

Recently, as sunlight evaporates at 3 PM and the temperature steadily drops, I’ve found myself staying in my flat most evenings. It’s been rejuvenating to escape the sweeping winds and uninspiring Scottish drizzle, by indulging in my favourite comfort films with flatmates. These moments of choosing to stay home, rather than meandering to the library have allowed my brain and body to relax and reset. While the feeling of guilt does loom in the back of my mind that I should be working on my class readings or deadlines, slowing down in my evenings have allowed me to wake up more than ready to tackle classwork. It’s not just classwork that slowing down becomes beneficial for, I find that it allows me to re-engage with my hobbies such as reading, gaming and baking. With this, I've learned that, completing coursework and looking after my physical health is an essential aspect of university life, but caring for myself through unwinding and reconnecting with my hobbies is a deserved necessity.  

Self-care is personal. It’s a refusal to treat your body like a machine, not a checklist to buy and display online, or a metric to achieve. In November, when deadlines rush in and daylight fades, slow moments of enjoyment are what keep us human.