Self-Care is Not a Commodity
Mental illness is a hot topic for 2023 and post-pandemic(-ish) life. Forbes featured the alarming rise in workplace burnout, anxiety, and depression, the new 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline received ~42% more calls in the second half of 2022 over the prior year, and Seattle Public Schools prosecuted Big Tech for “intentionally contributing to the youth mental health crisis.”
Unsurprisingly, mental health and wellness — self-care — has simultaneously gone mainstream. For those unfamiliar with self-care, it encompasses a litany of behaviors and activities aimed to alleviate stress and cope with illness and disabilities. It is a form of rest, relaxation, and re-energization.
Self-care is a deeply personal and internal practice, with no “right” or “wrong” way to do it. Some practice light movement, regular sleep, and quality time with loved ones. I’m a longtime champion of meditation and journaling. What works for me, however, won’t work for everyone.
Perhaps in spite of self-care’s vague description, wellness and lifestyle businesses have capitalized on its more consumable qualities. Social feeds are inundated with advertisements for self-care products over the most recent holiday season. Flash deal pop-ups for expensive bath bombs, luxury athleisure-wear, eye masks and bathrobes have all jostled for my attention at various times. One-click checkout promises convenient and instant self-care.
Those algorithms likely target me because I fit the general twenty-something, female, urban demographic, but I couldn’t be further from their ideal customer. I spend most holiday seasons and hot girl summers protective of my mental health and eating disorder recovery, wary of dinner party diet-talk and overdone displays on the art of being busy.
Trendy detox teas, bubble baths, leggings like butter on my skin, and even matchy dog outfits can be fun, but they cannot replace my self-care practice — it is not a commodity.
The World Health Organization (WHO) defines self-care as: “the ability of individuals, families, and communities to promote health, prevent disease, maintain health, and to cope with illness and disability with or without the support of a healthcare provider.” While my meditation practice and walks are technically “free” in the sense that I don’t have to pay for them, they certainly came to me through monetary cost.
In order to “cope with [my] illness and disability,” I invested in a dedicated therapist and team of doctors for eating disorder treatment. This was only possible because I have medical insurance, I live in a large Metropolitan area, and it probably helps that I’m white. I’m horrified by the statistics that Black, Indigenous, and People of Color are half as likely to be diagnosed with eating disorders or to receive treatment.
For those fortunate enough to have a psychiatric diagnosis and desire to ultimately achieve remission, many, especially children, face months-long waitlists for professional care. This very real gap in mental health resources indicates that attaining mental health recovery is not a simple task for most and not a reasonably affordable goal for many.
While healthcare professionals are not required to establish a self-care practice, WHO explicitly mentions the practice is meant to support body and mind health. It is conservatively estimated that some 20% adults – 1 in 5 – experience mental illness in the U.S. 9% of Americans – 30 million people – experience an eating disorder in their lifetime, and less than half will receive treatment.
Unfortunately, these stats make for a lucrative consumer base susceptible to feel-good marketing tactics. The self-care industry offers “necessary” products and “rituals” for consumers to buy into healing and self-betterment. It's not surprising the self-care industry grew to $450 million in 2022 across various consumer packaged goods categories.
The industry’s success alludes to a greater conversation about American consumerism, classism, racism, and thin-idealism.
Ads for New Year's resolutions, mental wellbeing, and fitness and nutrition goals often contain implicit messaging of unattainable beauty and diet industry standards. This messaging includes anything marketed as a quick fix, anti-aging, or slimming treatment, all of which imply there is a certain societal definition around what the practice of self-care should look like and who should be practicing it.
Those exclusive definitions entirely miss the self-care mark. At a minimum, lighting candles and wearing makeup may not be everyone’s self-care cup of tea, regardless of their gender expression, ethnicity, or background. Even if it were, they may not be able to afford this glamorous version of self-care. And this exclusionary marketing practice of the self-care have’s and have-not’s can further deepen unhealthy comparison and personal dissatisfaction.
Self-care isn’t packaged or Instagrammable to me, it can’t come with free delivery. For the most part, self-care has not been pleasant. Eating disorder recovery was a particularly painful and introspective time, entirely worth it but not at all glamorous. I didn’t work this hard in recovery to revert back to denying the basic inevitabilities of being a human, like laugh-lines or holiday sweets. Those are essential simple joys in life, and if that isn’t enough for self-care, then I don’t know what is.
