Self-Care Is Not Another Thing You Have to Get Right

What happens when self-care just turns into one more thing you’re failing at?

I tossed out that question during My Self-Care Mosaic, our last workshop for ADHD Awareness Month. Right away, people jumped in. One person talked about how she just lost all motivation. Someone else said that neglecting self-care quickly piled up and became overwhelming. Another described keeping up with life until their body finally put on the brakes. They just couldn’t push through anymore.

And then came my favorite line: self-care as one more stick to beat ourselves with.

That stuck with me. I see it all the time working with clients who have ADHD or struggle with executive function. We turn self-care, something meant to support us, into a test of how well we can “do life.” We make plans, set routines, and pressure ourselves to be calmer, healthier, or more together. But when the plans fall apart (because, you know, life), we call ourselves failures.

Isn’t that enough already? Do we really need self-care to become another impossible standard?

This year, I wanted our workshops to sidestep the usual chatter about productivity, time management, and starting tasks. That stuff matters, but it’s easy to lose the actual person, ourselves, in all those conversations. In the first session, What Is My Brain Asking For?, we spent time noticing our real needs. In the second, The Art of Doing Less, we talked about setting things down, letting go, and making room. For the final workshop, I wanted us to ask what caring for ourselves actually looks like if we stop trying to become superhumans.

Not the ideal version of ourselves, just the real, right-now version.

So, we got talking about routines. They can be a lifesaver for many people with ADHD. They cut down on decisions, provide a rhythm, and make things easier. But routines also draw on executive function, and sometimes our capacity just isn’t there. What works great on Monday feels out of reach by Thursday. Our mood shifts, our energy tanks, and life interrupts. Sometimes the structure that helped yesterday is just one more demand today.

That doesn’t mean you blew it. It might just mean you’re human, and your capacity shifted.

Why do we treat “consistency” like it’s the gold standard anyway? What if the real win is finding approaches that actually respond to our needs, even as those needs keep changing?

I asked everyone in the workshop to stretch their idea of what counts as self-care. Sure, the spa days, bubble baths, or pedicures are legitimate forms of care (I love a good pedicure). But the wellness industry has done a number on us by suggesting that proper self-care always involves buying something, booking an appointment, or following a set ritual.

But self-care can be so much simpler.

It could mean dimming the lights and turning down the noise when you’re overwhelmed. It could mean asking for help, crossing something off your to-do list, or deciding something doesn’t deserve your energy anymore. It might involve drawing, dancing, eating a real meal, talking to a friend, or simply sitting in silence.

And that last one, sitting quietly and doing nothing? That deserves attention.

One participant said she tried just “doing nothing” for self-care, but almost instantly felt guilty. She wanted to rename it “reflection” so it felt like it had a purpose. Rest, on its own, felt like it wasn't enough.

That’s so telling. Even when we desperately need downtime, we’re trained to justify it. We call it recovery or preparation or anything else so it counts as productive. But can rest just be rest? Does it have to serve something else?

We also talked about how self-care often covers more than one need. Listening to music can soothe your nerves, spark creativity, or just make you happy. Gardening gives you fresh air, movement, and calm at the same time. Hanging out alone might help you recover emotionally and get a break from sensory overload. These aren’t rigid boxes. They are just different ways to notice what helps.

When it came time to build our self-care mosaics, the idea was simple: your life isn’t a neat little checklist. It’s a patchwork of different pieces. I invited everyone to list out self-care options for low, moderate, and higher-capacity days.

Not as a new to-do list, but to notice what’s possible when you’re tired and what’s possible when you have more to give.

Movement’s a good example. On low-capacity days, it might mean stretching on the floor. On moderate-capacity days, it could mean a walk outside. On higher-capacity days, you might go dancing or join a fitness class. The need to move remains, but how you do it changes.

The same goes for music. Maybe you put on a playlist when you have no energy. If you’re up for it, you’ll play your instrument or, on a day when you have more energy, go to a live show. None of these are “better.” They just require different resources, and that’s personal.

What feels easy to one person wipes someone else out. What used to be no big deal might be hard right now.

One woman noticed her low-capacity list was pretty full, her moderate-capacity list was filling in, but her higher-capacity activities were pretty sparse. She wondered, “Should I add more higher-capacity stuff?”

I asked why.

Why pretend every section needs to be even? Why would having lots of easy, low-effort supports be a problem? Why do we expect ourselves to “achieve balance” instead of just living in ways that work for us?

That kicked off a good conversation about how easy it is to measure our self-care the same way we measure performance. We look for what’s missing, what could be added, and where we’re not enough.

But self-care isn’t a performance review.

If your low-capacity section is robust, that’s probably what you need most right now. Maybe that’ll change later, maybe not. The point is to see the mosaic as information, not a grade.

People started connecting the dots. They grouped stretching, longer walks, and gym time under “movement,” or noticed that their strategies were all centered in one area and realized they might want to branch out.

I loved seeing those lightbulb moments. They show what happens when we lean into curiosity, not criticism.

Of course, knowing what supports us is only step one. As a coach, I live for the messy gap between “good intentions” and “what actually happens.” We can overthink our needs, but that doesn’t mean we’ll act on them.

So, I asked everyone to pick one thing from their mosaic. Just one.

We talked about why it mattered, how hard it felt, and how to make it easier. One person picked an adult coloring book with affirmations she already owned. It was a low-pressure option. The problem? It was buried in a closet, out of sight and out of mind. Her experiment for the week was to put the book somewhere visible and try it once. That’s it.

No daily commitment, no pressure. Just a little experiment.

That’s the change I hope for. Sometimes helping our executive function isn’t about whipping up motivation or willpower. It’s about removing steps, making things visible, and letting activities be small enough that you can actually start.

And sometimes the most supportive choice is simply not adding anything new.

We got into the guilt that can come with self-care. Other people might question your boundaries or how you handle your time. When society hammers into you that your only value is productivity, you start feeling like you have to “earn” your rest or explain why you need it.

But you don’t owe everyone an explanation.

Boundaries are self-care, too. We get to choose what we share, with whom, and whether we even want to talk about our personal needs. What helps you isn’t up for a committee vote.

Unlearning the belief that rest must be earned takes practice. So does noticing our needs without instantly judging them. These messages run deep for a lot of us. We’ve carried them for decades. One workshop, one mosaic, or even one great conversation won’t rewrite them overnight.

But we can get started.

Throughout all three ADHD Awareness Month workshops, one theme kept coming up. To respond to our needs, we have to actually notice them. To create space for real care, we probably need to loosen our grip on unnecessary burdens. And to turn good intentions into action, we have to be realistic about what’s possible right now.

That’s why I circle back to three simple prompts: Start. Return. Continue.

Start with what you can actually do. Return when you can. Continue in a way that works for the version of you that’s here today.

Your self-care mosaic? It’s fine if it’s unfinished, a little weird, or changing every week. Add pieces, take them out, and move them around. Whatever fits.

Most importantly, don’t let it become one more thing you’re “supposed” to do.

Self-care isn’t about becoming flawless or never having hard days. It’s about showing up for yourself with a little more kindness and paying attention to what you need, even when things don’t go as planned.

Rest isn’t a treat you unlock by working yourself into the ground. Care isn’t a prize you have to “deserve.”

Struggle? That’s just information, not a judgment on who you are.

So maybe the best question isn’t “Am I getting self-care right?” but “What do I actually need, and what does caring for myself look like today?”

Tomorrow, the answer will probably be different.

And that’s exactly as it should be.

Start • Return • Continue.