You know what's funny? I used to think good self-care meant having more stuff, doing more things, following more routines. My bathroom looked like a small pharmacy – serums for this, creams for that, gadgets I'd bought at 2 AM from some infomercial promising to change my life. I had spreadsheets tracking my habits, apps reminding me to do seventeen different wellness activities, and a stack of self-help books that honestly just made me feel guilty about not being zen enough.
Three years into retirement, I realized I was spending more time managing my self-care routine than actually feeling cared for. Sound familiar?
The whole thing hit me when I was standing in my bathroom one morning, trying to remember if the vitamin C serum went before or after the hyaluronic acid, and whether I was supposed to wait three minutes between each step. I mean, come on. This wasn't self-care anymore – it was like having a part-time job I didn't get paid for.
That's when I stumbled onto this idea of minimalist self-care, which honestly sounded like an oxymoron at first. How can you care for yourself by doing less? But after decades of accumulating stuff that was supposed to make me feel better (spoiler alert: it didn't), I was ready to try something different.
See, I'd fallen into the same trap with self-care that I had with everything else in my house. More must be better, right? Wrong. So very wrong. All those products and routines and apps weren't making me feel more cared for – they were just adding to my mental load. Another thing to remember, another step to complete, another way to feel like I was failing if I skipped it.
The first thing I did was clean out my bathroom cabinet. Good grief, what a project that was. Half-empty bottles of expensive face cream I'd used twice before deciding they didn't work miracles. Supplements I'd forgotten I was taking. Three different jade rollers because apparently I thought buying more would make me actually use them. Most of it went straight to my daughter – she was thrilled to inherit my collection of barely-used beauty products.
I kept three things: a gentle cleanser, a moisturizer with SPF, and one lipstick that actually makes me happy when I wear it. That's it. You should've seen Jim's face when he walked into the bathroom – he thought we'd been robbed. "Where did everything go?" he asked. "Away," I told him. "And good riddance."
The weird thing is, my skin looks exactly the same. Maybe even better, because I'm not constantly trying new products that irritate it. But more importantly, my morning routine went from twenty-five minutes of complicated steps to about three minutes of simple care. Those extra twenty minutes? I spend them drinking coffee and watching the birds at our feeder. Revolutionary stuff, right?
But it wasn't just about skincare. I looked at all the ways I was trying to take care of myself and realized most of them were just… exhausting. The meditation app that sent me twelve notifications a day. The fitness tracker that made me feel guilty for not hitting 10,000 steps (seriously, who decided 10,000 was the magic number?). The gratitude journal I kept forgetting to write in, which then made me feel ungrateful.
I cancelled the app subscriptions. Put the fitness tracker in a drawer. Started writing down three things I was grateful for on whatever scrap of paper was handy – sometimes it's the back of an envelope, sometimes it's in the margin of the newspaper. Turns out gratitude doesn't require a special journal or perfect handwriting.
My friend Martha went through something similar last year. She'd been following this elaborate morning routine she'd read about online – meditation, journaling, exercise, green smoothie, the works. She was getting up at 5 AM to fit it all in and felt terrible when she couldn't complete every step. Now she just does one thing each morning that makes her feel good. Sometimes it's five minutes of stretching. Sometimes it's sitting outside with her tea. Sometimes it's calling her sister. Much simpler, much more sustainable.
That's the thing about minimalist self-care – it's not about depriving yourself. It's about figuring out what actually makes you feel cared for versus what you think should make you feel cared for. Big difference there.
I used to think I needed to exercise for an hour every day to be healthy. Turns out, a twenty-minute walk around the neighborhood does more for my mood and energy than those intense workout videos ever did. I actually enjoy walking. Those videos just made me feel inadequate and sweaty.
Same with eating. I'd tried every diet, read every nutrition book, counted every calorie. Now I just… eat real food when I'm hungry and stop when I'm full. I keep the kitchen stocked with fruits and vegetables and whole grains. I don't stress about whether my breakfast has the perfect ratio of protein to carbs. Such a relief.
The mental shift was huge too. Instead of thinking "what should I do for self-care today?" I started asking "what do I actually need right now?" Sometimes the answer is a hot bath. Sometimes it's a fifteen-minute nap. Sometimes it's just sitting quietly without any agenda at all. Revolutionary concept – listening to what my body and mind actually want instead of following someone else's blueprint for wellness.
Digital stuff was another big area. I was constantly reading articles about self-improvement, watching wellness videos, following influencers who made me feel like I wasn't doing enough. Deleted most of those apps, unfollowed the accounts that made me feel bad about myself, and suddenly had so much more time and mental space.
Now I check my phone maybe twice a day instead of constantly. Spend evenings reading actual books instead of scrolling through health tips I'll never use. It's amazing how much calmer I feel when I'm not constantly consuming information about how to improve myself.
The house changes helped too. I kept only the things that actually supported my wellbeing – the cozy reading chair, the essential oil diffuser I actually use, the soft blanket that makes me feel comforted. Got rid of the exercise equipment gathering dust, the craft supplies for hobbies I'd lost interest in, the books about achieving optimal wellness that just made me feel stressed.
Creating space for what matters meant getting rid of what doesn't. My living room actually feels peaceful now instead of cluttered with good intentions I never followed through on.
People sometimes ask if I miss having more options, more products, more routines. Honestly? Not even a little bit. I feel more taken care of now than I ever did when I was trying to do everything "right." Turns out, taking care of yourself doesn't require complicated systems or expensive products. It just requires paying attention to what you actually need and giving that to yourself without judgment.
The best part is how much time and energy I have for things that actually matter to me. Spending time with my grandkids without worrying about whether I've completed my daily wellness checklist. Reading books I enjoy instead of self-help manuals. Having friends over without stressing about whether my house looks like a wellness magazine.
This isn't about being lazy or not caring about yourself. It's about caring for yourself in ways that actually work instead of ways you think should work. Quality over quantity, intention over obligation, simplicity over complexity. At 63, I finally figured out that the best self-care routine is the one you'll actually stick with because it makes you feel good, not because it looks good on paper.
Carol’s a retired teacher from Maine who swapped classroom clutter for calm spaces. She writes about downsizing, letting go of sentimental stuff, and finding joy in living with less. Practical, honest, and refreshingly grounded, her stories prove that simplicity really can be freedom
