The use of the word ‘self-care’ reached its peak in January 2023 and is now experiencing a decline, albeit a slow one. Every day that I engulf my TikTok feed post by post, I’m confronted with the concept of personal upkeep and romanticising your life, our weapons in combat against a quarter life crisis. The WHO defines self care as ‘the ability of individuals, families and communities to promote health, prevent disease, maintain health, and cope with illness and disability with or without the support of a health worker’, though these days it evokes ideas of face masks, hot girl walks, Mind App, mushroom powder, reformer pilates, tarot and ‘manifest your dream job/partner/hair colour’ rituals.
Even though it’s an all-encompassing realm of activities and practices, there is an element of self care that has been commodified by the elite to redefine our expectations of what caring for our bodies and brains looks like. At what point did we decide £30 gummies to were vital to destress?
Self care is argued to be a ‘stand in for feminised approach social privilege’, a tool adopted by and afforded to the straight, white, wealthy and educated. Over the past decade we’ve witnessed the birth of brands like Lemme, Goop and Kin Euphorics emerging from rich, white-passing women with the message that ‘Beauty comes from the inside out …but at a price’. It’s fair enough for celebs to push us wellness products as a cure to our malaise, but not exactly if they have house-help at your beck and call and could even afford a lobotomy if they really wanted to.
There’s a bitter unfairness that those with the most social capital are pushing us (or rather, selling the idea) to ‘just relax’ or ‘be slower, more mindful, more kind to ourselves etc.’ when many of us simply lack the time or access to resources. Everyone says Gen Z are the army of quiet quitters who care about mental health more than ever. Whilst this might be correct, they aren’t naive to the fact that these are hard times and sometimes grind is the only option.
Despite recently wriggling out of a recession, we’re still buying Sainsbury’s own lemonade instead of Schweppes and groaning at our landlords upping our rents. We purchase the occasional face mask or invest in BIAB, but this is transient and will make us feel better for a couple of hours before we realise that £40 could have covered a bill, if not a £90 weekly session with a therapist. We’re not exactly ‘zen’: We’re lonelier and more single than ever, we’re working multiple jobs to make ends meet and there are only so many Mary Oliver/Rupi Kaur poems we can take before we’re over-therapised and romanticising our depression à la Effie Stonem.
As you can imagine, this immoderately affects people of colour. For many women of colour self care is an act of resistance against misogynoir and the myth (or reality) that they have to work twice and hard to be respected. This creates an imaginary shield, limiting them from accessing softer more carefree sides. In turn, black women are encouraged to be selfless, always putting others' needs before their own and striving to be the best outward version of themselves even if their inwardness is suffering.
Psychological studies discuss how black women are disproportionately treated by the healthcare services; under the guise that they are stronger and therefore more powerful against bodily pain. With less access to medicine and holistic services, it should seem that such groups of people should step in to prioritise self care. But there’s a mental barrier, always being regarded as ‘strong’ creates an expectation that these people are able to pick themselves up (EVERY. FUCKING. TIME.) when the going gets tough.
Having battled with a fair share of problems, both physical and mental, I've dealt with the NHS as well as spoken to everyone from therapists to tarot readers, clairvoyants to girls in the club in order to (attempt to) take back control of my body and mind. I’ve had black friends and family ask about how I find therapy and medication (mentally ill since 15 and slaying!), either out of curiosity or concern. Emerging from religious or cultural roots, there is a hesitation to seek answers in the ‘woo woo’. Anyone who watched the latest Queenie can vouch for this; at some point instead of relying on casual sex and alcohol; the protagonist seeks help in a mental professional much to the dismay of her elders; who finally come around as she achieves more clarity from therapy.
The aforementioned scenario indicates a shift in our general understanding of caring for ourselves, and luckily there are groups who are pushing to dismount self care from its arcane pedestal.
Sad Girls Club is on a mission to break down barriers around mental health Babes on Waves has recently launched a Busy Babes, a self-proclaimed ‘social wellbeing club balancing heath and hustle.’; providing healing experiences like ice baths and self-protection sessions like Muay Thai. Phoebe Collings-James’ Mudbelly Ceramics is teaching facility offering free ceramics courses for black people in London, allowing them to take part in holistic sessions and - despite the flack they’re now getting for canvassing as a Hinge alternative - running and walking clubs are providing people with time to connect with nature and community.
Whilst services like Counselling and Psychotherapy still remain pricey or laborious, we’ve started to acknowledge that there are baby steps to be taken in the route to being your best self. Self care should be for everyone, but only under the guise of capitalism within which we’ve over-commodified the notion of wellness. Put down the CBD pills and scroll quickly past that love spell, and pick up a pen and paper, play with clay or phone a friend for a moment of well-deserved rest.
