The term “self-care” has forever conjured images of early nights in, face masks, and scented candles. Search for it on TikTok or Pinterest, and you’ll find the same thing: retreat, calm, and comfort. But there’s nothing wrong with that. Many of us are genuinely overstretched, and quiet, intentional downtime (especially alone) can be restorative and necessary.
The problem is that self-care has been narrowed into something almost exclusively soothing, and more troublingly, something that can be bought. The global wellness industry, now worth trillions, thrives on convincing us that peace and wellbeing are just a purchase away: a new device, a new supplement, a ritual. But long-term well-being is not a commodity. It is a pattern of behaviour, built through repeated choices that extend beyond what is aesthetically pleasing to look at or easy to purchase with the click of a button.
I want to challenge the idea that self-care is about immediate relief. If it is truly about supporting who you are and your future, it cannot be limited to comfort. It must also include the actions that challenge us, that move us just beyond what feels safe or familiar, in ways that ultimately expand our lives.
A phrase I commonly hear in self-care conversations is “protect your peace.” Boundaries are essential, of course. But I sometimes wonder if we have started to overuse the idea; are we missing out on crucial experiences for the sake of avoiding slight discomfort or conflict? Avoidance can feel immediately relieving, but that relief is fleeting, and in many cases, may cause harm in the long run. Exposure therapy, a cornerstone of cognitive behavioural therapy, illustrates why: avoidance strengthens fear. Each time we sidestep anxiety-inducing or difficult situations, we teach our brains that those moments are dangerous. Reamaining in our comfort zones reinforces that discomfort is threatening rather than a signal of growth. Gradual exposure, on the other hand, helps recalibrate that association, showing us that we are capable of more than we think.
We see this in everyday choices: declining an invitation because we’re nervous or even just lazy, avoiding something competitive because we might fail, postponing a difficult conversation because it feels awkward. The relief might be immediate, but the cost is quietly accumulating over time.
I was partly inspired to write this after coming across a Tumblr post insisting that we must confront our fears head-on or risk living a “small life.” In my own life, I’ve been trying, consciously, to push myself to do things I don’t want to do but that I know will benefit me, and so, corny as the full post may be, the sentiment really stuck with me. Putting in subtle and persistent effort, allowing yourself to feel occasionally uncomfortable, often produces more benefit than comfort ever could.
Research supports this approach. The Harvard Study of Adult Development is one of the longest-running studies on well-being and has found that strong relationships are among the clearest predictors of health and happiness. But meaningful connection is never going to be achieved passively; it requires attention and effort.
My friends and I have a running joke with saying “the price of community is inconvenience!” when we’re trying to rally someone who doesn’t want to go out with us. Though it’s mostly said in jest, it actually has a lot of truth to it. Meaningful relationships require us to step outside comfort, to show up when it would be easier not to. If relationships are foundational to long-term wellbeing, that willingness is a vital form of self-care.
The same principle applies beyond friendships. Getting out of bed when you don’t want to, attending a lecture that feels skippable, going on a date, asking for a networking meeting, applying for a job, none of these actions feel indulgent or like traditional self-care. They feel vulnerable, sometimes inconvenient, but over time, they build resilience, confidence, and can lead to a far more fulfilling life.
This is not a recommendation to live a life under constant strain, and there is certainly such a thing as stretching yourself too thin. There are times when preservation is the most intelligent form of care. But if comfort becomes the only measure, life can begin to shrink. We end up moving through familiar patterns, seeing the same people, taking the same safe paths, and while that may feel easy, it leaves little room for growth.
Bubble baths, matching pyjamas, and scented candles are all lovely, and they absolutely belong. But alongside them, it is worth cultivating the kind of self-care that challenges and expands. Comfort soothes the present, while chosen discomfort shapes the person who will inhabit your future. Perhaps finding a healthy balance of both comfortable and uncomfortable forms of self-care will leave you feeling renewed and confident.