By Ross Hendrickson
Years ago, a friend of mine told me he was going to take a “self-care day.” I laughed. Out loud. I thought he was joking.
At the time, I was balancing a full-time workload, raising kids, responding to people in crisis, and pretending that the caffeine in coffee was the same thing as rest. A self-care day? That sounded like something you got once a year if the planets aligned and your entire to-do list magically vanished.
But here’s what I’ve learned. If you wait until everything is done to take care of yourself, it will never happen. And if you don’t intentionally build in space to rest, life will eventually force you to stop. Usually not in ways you get to choose.
And if you enjoy a good example from the Bible, then let’s start here… Jesus napped in a boat.
In the middle of a storm. While the disciples were freaking out. Waves crashing. People yelling. Complete chaos. And there He was, sleeping on a cushion.
Not because He didn’t care. Not because He wasn’t strong enough to push through the storm. But because He knew how to rest.
Somewhere along the line, a lot of us picked up this belief that taking care of ourselves is selfish. That if we’re not pushing, striving, or sacrificing for others, we’re somehow not doing it right. But maybe rest isn’t the opposite of work. Maybe rest is part of the work.
Jesus didn’t wait for perfect peace to rest. He rested in the middle of the storm. That feels important.
A few years back, I found myself feeling drained and snappy. Not just tired, but worn thin. Everything felt heavier than it should have. My motivation was off, my patience was shot, and I had the emotional range of a stapler.
It all came to a head on a Saturday morning. I was folding laundry, just trying to catch up, and I found a single sock without a match. That sock broke me. I sat down on the floor, laundry basket in my lap, and just stared at it.
My wife found me sitting there like I was trying to solve a complex math equation using only fabric softener. She asked what was wrong, and I surprised myself when I said, “I don’t even know what I need anymore. I’m just tired. Of everything.”
That was my wake-up call. Not a lightning bolt. Just a slow realization that I couldn’t keep living like I was a machine. I needed to reconnect with myself. I needed a reset.
So I started small.
Ten minutes alone in the morning with no phone. Walks without turning them into a workout. Actually eating lunch instead of skipping it. Saying no to things that didn’t fit. I went to bed a little earlier. I stopped pretending that burnout was just part of being a grown-up.
I began remembering who I was again. And that made all the difference.
One thing that helped me more than I expected was reconnecting with hobbies. Somewhere between work, parenting, and trying to keep everyone fed and functioning, I had forgotten what I actually enjoyed doing.
So I gave myself permission to revisit old hobbies and try new ones. I picked up fantasy football again, and let me tell you, drafting a team gave me an unexpected jolt of joy. I was trash-talking with friends, over-analyzing matchups like a true professional couch coach, and having fun. Actual fun. Not productive, not meaningful, just fun.
We need to find those activites that are life-breathing into us, instead of sucking the life out of us. For some people, it might be painting, gardening, running, baking, or getting lost in a good book. For others, it might be learning guitar or joining a recreational kickball league, even if your knees protest halfway through the warm-up. The point is not what it is. The point is that it helps you feel like a person again. Someone with interests and joy and personality beyond your obligations.
Hobbies remind you that you are more than what you do. And sometimes they help you laugh again.
When people hear “self-care,” they often picture bubble baths and spa music and someone getting their nails done while sipping a fancy drink. And hey, if that’s what recharges you, go for it.
But for most of us, self-care is way less glamorous.
Self-care is turning off your email after dinner. It’s leaving work at work. It’s drinking water like you actually believe your body needs it. It’s choosing to rest instead of numbing out with scrolling or binge-watching.
It’s giving yourself permission to slow down without asking anyone for it.
It’s recognizing that your worth is not measured by how much you produce or how many people you please. It’s letting yourself be human.
Self-care is brushing your teeth and calling a friend, and eating a vegetable once in a while. It’s going to therapy. It’s knowing that burnout is not a badge of honor and stress is not a personality trait.
Let me introduce you to someone. His name is Pete.
Pete is a therapist and a dad. He’s been married for over two decades and is known for being the guy who always shows up. Clients love him. Friends rely on him. Neighbors wave when he walks by because he once fixed someone’s garbage disposal in the middle of a rainstorm just to be helpful.
But Pete is tired. He doesn’t always admit it, but it shows.
He wakes up in the middle of the night thinking about other people’s problems. He zones out when his wife talks because he’s still thinking about a conversation he had earlier that day. He says things like “I just need to push through this week” every single week.
Pete skips meals. He skips rest. He skips himself.
One day, during a session with a client, the person says, “I feel like I’m constantly showing up for everyone else, but I’ve forgotten how to show up for me.”
Pete nods in agreement, and it hits him. He’s doing the exact same thing.
So he makes a change.
He starts small. A quiet cup of coffee in the morning without his phone. A walk around the block just to breathe. He takes one evening a week and does something for no reason other than it makes him feel like himself again. He starts to laugh more. He listens more closely. He yells less. He sleeps better.
The people around Pete notice the difference.
Turns out, when Pete started taking care of himself, he had more to give. Not less.
You don’t have to wait for a breakdown to prioritize your well-being.
You don’t have to earn rest.
You don’t need permission to breathe, recharge, reset, or just exist as someone other than the fixer or helper or scheduler or solution-finder.
You are allowed to matter in your own life.
Your health is not selfish. It is essential. The people you love need you to be well, not just available.
Taking care of yourself isn’t about escape. It’s about restoration. It’s about showing up for your life with more presence, more patience, and more clarity.
And yes, sometimes it means doing absolutely nothing for a little while.
We live in a world that rewards overwork and glorifies burnout. But what if the bravest thing you could do today is stop? Just for a moment.
What if your worth is not based on how much you hustle?
What if you gave yourself permission to breathe?
You are not a machine. You are not a robot. You are not the solution to everyone’s problems.
You are a person with needs. And those needs are not an inconvenience. They are part of being human.
So maybe today, take five minutes and check in with yourself.
Are you tired? Are you overwhelmed? When was the last time you did something just because it brought you joy?
Start there. Start small. Start now.
Self-care is not a luxury. It is not something extra. It is not selfish.
It is you, learning how to live with more peace. More clarity. More resilience.
It is you, finally giving yourself the same compassion you so easily give to others.
And if anyone gives you a hard time about it, just remind them that even Jesus took a nap in a boat.
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