THE SELF-CARE GUILT IS REAL (ESPECIALLY IN DECEMBER)
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The cookies were burning.
I could smell them through the bedroom door, that acrid, unmistakable scent of sugar turning to carbon. My phone buzzed on the edge of the bed. A text from my adult son: "Mom, are you okay? You've been in there for a while. Should I take the cookies out?"
And there it was. The shame of hiding in my own bedroom just to breathe for ten minutes. The guilt of choosing to zone out with a book over perfectly golden cookies. The question I couldn't shake: What kind of person locks herself in her bedroom while cookies burn?
The answer, I eventually learned, was simple: One who's about to burn out if she doesn't stop pretending her needs don't exist.
If you're reading this in December, especially if you're reading it while hiding in a bedroom, a parked car, or that one quiet corner of your house, I see you. And I need you to know something: taking care of yourself isn't taking from others. It's making sure you don't completely collapse.
Why December Makes Self-Care Feel Impossible (And Wrong)
December doesn't just ask a lot from us. It demands everything, then acts surprised when we have nothing left.
You're supposed to create magic. Shop thoughtfully. Cook elaborately. Show up enthusiastically. Smile constantly. Be present for everyone, except yourself, because that would be selfish, right?
Here's what nobody talks about: December is designed to make you feel like your needs are negotiable. The cultural narrative tells us that "good" people sacrifice during the holidays. That caring about ourselves while others need us is fundamentally selfish. That we should be able to power through on fumes and festive spirit alone.
But here's the truth: You can't pour from an empty cup, and December specializes in draining whatever you have left.
The expectation isn't just unrealistic, it's unsustainable. You're juggling gift lists, meal planning, family dynamics, work deadlines that don't pause for holidays, and the pressure to make everything look effortless on Instagram. Meanwhile, your own basic needs, sleep, quiet, a moment to just exist without someone needing something, feel like luxuries you don't deserve.
The Martyr Complex Nobody Asked You to Have
Let me be blunt: Nobody nominated you for sainthood.
I know that sounds harsh, but stay with me. Most of us, especially women, have been conditioned to believe that our worth is measured by how much we give up for others. We wear exhaustion like a badge of honor. We compete over who's the most tired, the most overwhelmed, the most selfless.
And you know what? Nobody actually wants that from you.
Your grown kids don't need you to martyr yourself for their comfort. Your partner doesn't need you to sacrifice everything. Your friends and family aren't keeping score of how little you prioritize yourself. Even your aging parents, if you're in that sandwich generation squeeze, don't benefit from you running yourself into the ground.
The martyr complex is something we impose on ourselves, and then we resent everyone around us for a sacrifice they never asked us to make.
What if, and hear me out, taking care of yourself made you better for the people you love? What if showing up for yourself actually meant you could show up for them without the undercurrent of bitterness?
I'm not suggesting you abandon your responsibilities or let cookies burn regularly (though honestly, store-bought works just fine). I'm suggesting that including yourself in the circle of people you care for isn't selfish. It's survival.
Micro-Moments of Care That Don't Require "Me Time"
The biggest lie about self-care is that it requires a spa day, a weekend getaway, or two uninterrupted hours of silence.
Real self-care, the kind that actually sustains you, happens in the margins. It's the 30 seconds you spend smoothing lotion bar on your hands after washing dishes for the third time today. It's the two minutes in the shower with coffee scrub that makes you feel slightly more human.
These aren't Instagram-worthy moments. They're not going to transform your life overnight. But they're the difference between completely running on empty and having just enough in the tank to keep going.
Here's what micro-moments of care actually look like:
In the morning: Apply body butter while your coffee brews. That's it. Thirty seconds of intentional care before the day demands everything from you.
During the day: Take three deep breaths before responding to that email that makes your blood pressure spike. Drink water from a cup you actually like instead of a plastic water bottle from three days ago.
In the evening: Light a candle while you clean up dinner. Use products that don't strip your hands raw so washing dishes doesn't feel like punishment for existing.
Before bed: If you get ten actual minutes, bath salts in warm water work wonders. If you don't, washing your face with something that doesn't irritate your skin counts as care.
The point isn't perfection. It's the practice of treating yourself like you're worth small moments of gentleness.
Budget Guilt: "I Spent Money on Bath Salts When I Still Owe for Christmas Gifts"
Let's talk about the guilt that shows up when you spend money on yourself.
You're staring at a cart with bath salts or a new bar of soap, and that voice in your head starts calculating: That's $20 I could put toward someone's gift. That's money I don't really have to spare. What kind of person prioritizes bath products over their family?
I've been there. I've closed browser tabs feeling guilty for even looking at products for myself. I've justified every purchase like I was defending myself in court.
But here's what shifted for me: Maintaining yourself isn't optional. It's essential.
You wouldn't feel guilty about buying soap to wash your hands, right? Or shampoo? Because those are necessities. So why do we categorize products that help us manage stress, soothe overwhelmed skin, or give us five minutes of peace as "luxuries"?
The truth is, spending $20 on something that helps you cope with December isn't selfish, it's strategic. Because the alternative is burning out, snapping at everyone you love, and spending January recovering from a December that demanded more than you had to give.
I'm not suggesting you blow your budget on self-care products while ignoring actual responsibilities. I'm suggesting that including your needs in the budget, even if it's small, is legitimate. You matter. Your comfort matters. Your ability to function without completely depleting yourself matters.
If you're genuinely choosing between feeding your family and buying bath salts, obviously feed your family. But if you're choosing between another mediocre gift for someone who doesn't need more stuff and something that might help you survive the season without a breakdown? Choose yourself. Just this once.
Reframing Self-Care as Maintenance, Not Luxury
The problem with calling it "self-care" is that it sounds optional. Like a treat. Like something you earn after you've taken care of everything and everyone else.
Let's reframe it: This is maintenance.
Your car needs oil changes. Your phone needs charging. Your body, your mind, needs care that goes beyond the absolute bare minimum of survival. This isn't pampering. It's preventing a breakdown.
When you think of it as maintenance, the guilt shifts. You wouldn't feel bad about getting your car serviced before it completely dies on the highway. So why feel bad about addressing your own needs before you hit empty?
Here's what maintenance actually looks like for people with real lives:
Physical maintenance: Products that don't irritate your skin so you're not dealing with reactions on top of everything else. Handmade soaps that work with your skin instead of against it. Things that make daily tasks slightly less awful.
Mental maintenance: Five minutes of quiet. Three deep breaths. One moment where you're not in motion serving someone else's needs.
Emotional maintenance: Acknowledging that you're overwhelmed instead of pretending you're fine. Crying if you need to. Laughing at the absurdity of trying to be everything to everyone.
This isn't luxury. This is what keeps you functional.
What Actually Helps vs. What Instagram Sells
Social media will tell you that self-care looks like aesthetic flat lays, expensive skincare routines, and bubble baths with wine and candles while you read literary fiction.
Real self-care is often messier and far less photogenic.
It's washing your face at 11 PM when you're so exhausted you can barely stand. It's drinking water instead of your fourth coffee. It's saying no to one more commitment even though you feel guilty. It's using products that actually work for your skin instead of whatever looks prettiest on the shelf.
Instagram sells you an aesthetic. Real self-care is about survival.
Instagram version: Hour-long elaborate skincare routine with 12 steps and perfect lighting.
Reality version: Washing your face with soap that doesn't make your skin angry and applying lotion before bed. That's it. That's the whole routine.
Instagram version: Luxurious bubble bath with artfully arranged props and ambient music.
Reality version: Ten minutes in warm water with bath salts while you pray nobody knocks on the door.
The Instagram version looks better, but the reality version is what actually helps. Because what you need isn't perfection, you need something sustainable that fits into your actual life.
Here's what actually helps during overwhelming seasons:
- Products that work the first time, every time, so you're not constantly troubleshooting reactions
- Simple routines that take under five minutes
- Things that feel good without requiring planning or setup
- Small moments of pleasure that don't create more work
- Permission to do the bare minimum without guilt
What doesn't help: comparing your messy reality to someone else's curated content, beating yourself up for not being "better" at self-care, or buying products that don't actually work for your needs.
Teaching Kids That Mom's Needs Matter Too (Modeling, Not Martyrdom)
Remember that text from my kid asking if I was okay because I'd been in the bathroom for a while?
Initially, I felt shame. But then I realized: This was actually a teaching moment.
I came out of that bedroom and had an honest conversation. Yes, I was okay. Yes, I needed a few minutes alone. Yes, the cookies burned. No, that wasn't a crisis. Yes, mom's needs matter too, even during busy seasons.
Your kids are watching how you treat yourself. They're learning what's normal and acceptable. If they only ever see you sacrificing, exhausting yourself, and treating your needs as negotiable, that's what they'll internalize.
Do you want your daughter to grow up thinking she should deplete herself for everyone else? Do you want your son to expect that the women in his life should constantly prioritize everyone but themselves?
Probably not.
So model something different. Show them that:
- Taking care of yourself is normal, not selfish
- Adults have needs that matter
- Boundaries are healthy
- It's okay to ask for help
- Burning out isn't a requirement for being a good person
This doesn't mean being selfish or neglectful. It means demonstrating that you're a person with needs, not a service provider who exists only to meet everyone else's demands.
When my kid texted asking if I was okay, I could have lied and said everything was fine. Instead, I was honest: "I needed a few minutes to breathe. The cookies burned, but we'll manage. Thanks for checking on me."
That text wasn't judgment, it was concern. And my response taught a more valuable lesson than any perfectly golden cookies ever could.
The Permission Slip You've Been Waiting For
If you need someone to tell you it's okay, here it is:
Taking care of yourself isn't taking from others. It's making sure you have something left to give.
You're not being dramatic. You're not being weak. You're not failing because you can't do everything for everyone without ever addressing your own needs.
December is hard. The holidays are exhausting. The pressure is relentless. And pretending you're fine when you're running on fumes doesn't make you strong, it makes you unsustainable.
You don't need to overhaul everything. You don't need a perfect routine. You don't need to suddenly become someone who prioritizes themselves effortlessly.
You just need to start. Small. Simple. With the understanding that including yourself in the circle of people who matter isn't optional, it's essential.
So take the bath. Use the good soap. Lock the bathroom door for five minutes. Buy the thing that might make your life slightly easier. Say no to one more commitment.
Let the cookies burn if you need to. I promise you'll all survive.
About Sea Spray Soap Company
We make handmade soaps and eco-friendly cleaning products for people who've been disappointed by "natural" products before. Everything is made in small batches in Flagler County, Florida, with Atlantic Ocean water and real ingredients that work for sensitive, reactive skin. No medical claims, no miracle promises, just honest products that do what they're supposed to do. Check out our full collection or read more about our story.
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