By the time Sunday rolls around, I’m usually running on fumes and every product in my bathroom has been relocated somewhere by my “roommate”. My broke roommate aka the youngest of my 3 kids. Between work and trying to remember where I put my keys (or my peace), I need one day that’s truly mine, no obligations, no guilt, no answering emails before I’ve wiped the sleep out of my eyes and had a cup of coffee or tea.

So Sunday has become sacred. It’s my reset day, my recharge day the day I lay my edges and my burdens down. My ritual starts simple: silence. Literally nothing. No music, no phone calls, no speaking. Just quiet. Next is a quick morning walk at the lake. I enjoy time outdoors and the fresh air. When on my walk I love to have my music playing in my Dre Beats. Not the “clean up the house” kind of playlist either. I mean the good stuff. A little Erykah Badu, maybe some Jill Scott if I’m feeling soft and spiritual. It’s nice to come home and have the incense burning and the breeze from my open windows meandering about. I roll out my yoga mat, and let my body decide what it needs.

Some Sundays it’s a slow flow…all hips, heart openers, and deep breaths that feel like exhaling the week. Other times it’s just me sitting still, cross-legged, trying not to think about the emails I ignored or the laundry I still haven’t put up. Either way, that mat is my peace treaty. No judgment, no deadlines. Just me.

After I move, I moisturize and I take my time with it. I love scented showers so I will drop some essential oils inside the tub. I love having special soaps that I use for the weekends that are relaxing and promote wellness. Weekend rituals have become non negotiable for me.

I’ve learned that lotioning in a rush doesn’t count as self-care. That’s just maintenance. I turn it into a whole ceremony: cocoa butter, shea, maybe a little oil that smells like vacation. I smooth it on like I’m affirming something. Because I am. Touch is so healing. I’ve learned to take my time caring for my body just like I take my time caring to craft an email to a colleague.

Then comes my hair. I take my hair seriously. It has indeed been a journey. This weekend it is different for me because I braved the humidity and got a silk press. But anytime I put my finders into my hair…it’s intentional

It’s symbolic. It’s order. It’s pride. It’s me reminding myself that I can create beauty, even when the world’s been messy all week. Be it a top knot or low bun.

Once the curls are set and the mind is calm, I make my brunch and have a smoothie or some hot tea. I have my little library in my yoga studio so I will grab a book for some pages to read and even my journal so that I can write. Nothing too deep, just honest reflections. Sometimes I write about gratitude. Sometimes I write about how tired I am of pretending to be okay when I’m not. Both count.

By the time I’m finished with meditation, nourishing myself and caring for my body, I feel brand new. Not because I’ve fixed everything, but because I’ve finally stopped trying to.

That’s my real self-care. It’s not always bubble baths and face masks, and rooms filled with insanely expensive candles….though don’t get me wrong, I love all of that. It’s about coming home to yourself, even when the house (and the world) feels a little chaotic.

So yeah, my edges are laid, and my mind is aligned. I’m moisturized, mellow, and home feels a little bit more magical. And come Monday, when life starts doing what life does, I’ll be ready…not perfect, not truly polished, but present.

xoxo