Part I: The Mind Rituals
It’s Not Too Late to Heal Your Thoughts
Be the Best at the Worst: Start Where You Are
Writing It Down Saved My Life: Connect to Your Innermost Self
When Life Hands You a Lemon, Stick a Pen in It and Turn It into a Bong: Nah, Don't Self-Medicate
When I Get Anxious, I Get Moving: Exercise Is for the Brain
I Tell Myself I Am Grateful for Everything, Even When I Am Grateful for Nothing: Fake Gratitude Until You Feel Gratitude
T$’s Guide to Thank-You Cards: The Best Selfish Thing You Can Do
The Frenemy Within: Stop Insulting Yourself
Who Even Are You?: Chart Your Own Course
Hype Men, Road Warriors, and Those You Must Avoid: Know Your Team
Buy the Fucking Lilies: Don't Cheap Out on Yourself
If I Don’t Take Monday Nights Off, We’ll Have a Murder-Suicide Situation: Make Time for YOU
The Well: Find What Inspires You and Cling to It for Dear Life
Breathe in, Baby, Breathe In: Life Is Not a Series of Crises to Be Endured. Life Is to Be Enjoyed.
Part II: The Body Rituals
I Stopped Treating My Body and Physical Space like a Garbage Can, and So Can You!
A Fresh Start: Create Physical Habits That Work for You
I Get Ready Like Cleopatra: Greet the Day like the Sovereign Ruler You Are
If You Can Play Nice with Others, Play Nice with Yourself: Do One Kind Thing for Yourself on the Daily
I Am a Bather. It’s a Thing.: Find a Ritual to Honor Your Body
I Have the Best Bras: How to Love That Thing About Your Body You Think You Hate
Don’t Let People Live in Your Garage: Fill Your Home with Treasures, Not Stuff
My Home Office Is a Sacred Sanctuary. Please Do Not Come In.: Take Up Space
Keep Your Home Dinner-Party Ready: Treat Yourself as You Would Treat Your Guests
It’s Not the Open Bar’s Fault You’re a Mess: Think Before You Drink
What Are Vegetables?: Nourish Yourself
Clonazepam Communion: Use the Tools You Need
Anjelica Huston Blessed Me: Climb Up Things You Don't Think You Can Climb Up
Part III: The Relationship Rituals
You Can’t Control How Others Treat You, but You Can Control What You’ll Accept
A Sad Meditation: Where Do You Find Love?
Lady Harem: Find Your Friend Family
Nobody Cares, at All. in Regard to Everything.: Choose Pronoia
Congrats! I’m Dating My Dad. Again.: Find Your Relationship Pattern
This Is Not the Oregon Trail. There Shall Be No Settling.: Find Yourself a FUCK YEAH Lover
Thank-You Notes to the Boys I Believe Wronged Me: You Can ALWAYS Learn Something
Dudes Tell You Who They Are. Listen.: Stop Hearing What You Want to Hear
O Sister, Where Art Thou?: You CAN Stop Being an Asshole
That Time My Dad Almost Died: Nothing Is Personal. People Are Limited.
If You’re Not in Love in Paris, You’re Not in Love at All: Romance Yourself
The Well-Being Rituals: Time to Create Your Own Shiny, Joyful, Inspired, HELLLL YES Life
Dedication
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The entire year I was twenty-six, I told people I was twenty-seven. Not because I wanted to be older (I did not) but because I simply forgot my exact age. I am terrible with time, dates, and numbers. This is my way of telling you that I tried my best to be accurate with my timeline, relying on my journals, my Google Doc, Instagram, friends, and family to help suss out the correct order of events during my self-care journey, but there’s always the chance I screwed up along the way. In some cases, when it served the narrative or when I felt like you didn’t need to hang around for the tenth time as I repeated the same fucking mistake in my life, I rearranged or compressed the timeline.
Additionally, I changed names and identifying characteristics and used composite characters when I thought it was the gentle, respectful thing to do. If, however, you somehow recognize yourself in these pages in a way that makes you think, Ugh, that wasn’t my finest moment, welcome to how I felt.
I tried to show myself, fully. In all things, I let truth, vulnerability, and kindness guide me.
—TARA SCHUSTER
Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.
—Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway
THE CHAOS RITUALS
And the Day I Decided to Grow Myself Up
So This Is Rock Bottom
It’s three P.M. and I’ve just woken up on top of my aggressively floral duvet, fully dressed. I’m in my best “Girls’ Night Out” ensemble: black Spanx, black tights, and a black sequined Forever 21 number that looks particularly cheap in daylight. I’m sweaty AF. I pull my hair as hard as I can to offset the pain of my crushing migraine. There is an uneaten, unexplained grilled cheese sandwich lying next to me. This is not a good look.