One Downward Dog at a Time: My Self-Care & Wellness Journey (and How You Can Escalate Your Own)

The early lesson: be your own expert

At 27, chest flutters sent me to cardiologists. The diagnoses—mitral valve prolapse and WPW—weren’t life-threatening, but the prescribed lifetime of beta blockers didn’t feel right. Pre-Google, I studied my options (at the library!), and chose yoga, breathing, and lifestyle changes. It calmed my heart and taught me to ask questions, try low-risk interventions first, and adopt a stance of proactivity about my health and wellness.

Caregiving turned the volume up

In my mid-50s I became my mother’s 24/7 caregiver. I knew if I didn’t put on my own oxygen mask—with movement, extra-healthy food, limited alcohol, and rest—I wouldn’t finish with my sanity (or health) intact. Caregiving sharpened my instincts: for setting boundaries, for monitoring my own health, and for keeping an eye on the health of my loved ones.

Pandemic truths: simple > perfect

Spa-style “band-aids” (facials, baths, pedicures) just weren’t enough. What worked were small, repeatable choices: lemon water in the morning, 10-minute walks, a little yoga, and getting outside. I relied on anchoring—attaching new habits to old ones: three yoga poses after journaling; aromatherapy while applying body lotion; a glass of water after brushing my teeth.

Which brings me to “why yoga keeps me coming back!”

Yoga is my reset button. Whether two minutes or 30, every return makes me stronger, calmer, and kinder to myself. The classic “Downward Dog” pose, for me, has some to mean: take one doable step, regain balance, build from there.

Annual re-commitments I make

Every January, I co-host our complimentary Women Who Care 31-day Easy Self-Care Challenge with Deborah Harlow. It helps US to stay on track, too!

Each August/September, I reassess. Some goals stick (earlier bedtimes, more perspective-expanding reading). Others shrink to fit reality (10-minute walks, not 60). The pattern is consistent: recommit, start small, anchor, layer, and acknowledge progress. When I drift, I pick a realistic date and restart—no self-scolding, just course-correction.

Five lessons I keep relearning

1. Participate in your own rescue.
   Tools and community help, but no one else can drink your water, take your walk, or power down your phone.
2. Commit out loud—and time-box it.
   A 31-day challenge or four-week reset creates a safe container for experiments.
3. Start small, then anchor and layer.
   Pair new habits with old ones (drink water after teeth-brushing; three yoga moves after journaling).
   Layer actions (diffuser + body lotion + five slow breaths) for a bigger payoff with the same minutes.
4. Plan and protect boundaries.
   “No” is a self-care tool. Say no to unrealistic timelines and yes to your bedtime, your walk, and your quiet hour.
5. Design for setbacks.
   You will miss days. Decide your minimum viable self-care; for me it’s hot lemon water at wake-up, no digital for the first 30 minutes, 6+ glasses of water, 10 minutes of movement, 5 minutes outdoors, a dab of essential oil in body lotion, in bed by 1:00 a.m. (±30 minutes), and an eye mask. I don’t hit them all every day—and that’s okay.

Easy ways to start—or re-commit—this week

Think simple, specific, scheduled. Pick one from each category and start today!

1) Core daily basics

• Water: One full glass upon waking and one before bed
• Move: 10 mins—walk, stretch, dance, or climb stairs
• Sleep: Set a lights-out target and 20-min wind-down (no news, low lights, quiet music).
• Nourish: One daily upgrade—add a serving of produce, swap a sugary drink for herbal tea, or include protein at breakfast
• Mind quiet: Two mins of stillness—inhale 4, hold 7, exhale 8; repeat

2) Anchor a new action

• After morning email → 10-min walk
• After shower → lotion + 3 deep breaths + favorite essential oil
• While watching TV → stretch calves/hamstrings or use a foot roller

3) Layer for leverage

• Outdoors + movement + light: Morning sun + short walk (resets circadian rhythm, mood)
• Aromatherapy + gratitude: Diffuse lavender while writing three lines of gratitude
• Hydration + perspective: Sip water while reading one non-work article

4) Protect the edges of your day

• AM: No smartphone for first 30 mins; enjoy birdsong, coffee aroma, or the view!
• PM: Set a screen curfew; if possible, charge your phone outside the bedroom

5) Make it visible

• Use paper tracker, sticky note, or calendar check mark; celebrate streaks with grace; perfection isn’t the goal

6) Create a micro-boundary you’ll honor

• “I don’t schedule meetings before 9”
• “I decline same-day deadlines”
• “I protect one hour weekly for yoga—no swaps”

7) Do one nice thing for yourself daily

Small, intentional acts count: fresh flowers, a facial mask, a 15-min call with a friend, or five pages of a novel. Name it out loud: This is for me.

If you’re caregiving right now

First: You’re doing an extraordinary thing. Second: You still matter, too.

When days are packed, think about self-care micro-moves:

• Five mins of stretching while the kettle boils
• Two mins of breathing before entering a room
• A “reset snack” (yogurt, nuts, or fruit) pre-packed and reachable
• A short loop in the parking lot before driving home
• One supportive call or text each week with someone who “gets it”

 

Also, be sure to track a few basic benchmarks—mood, blood-pressure range, hours of sleep (even dreams), or how often you laugh—plus a basic vital or two. If you see slippage, that’s your cue to ask for help, plan respite, or lighten your load.

The truth I keep returning to

Self-care isn’t a spa day (though I love a mask and pedicure!). It’s your personalized system of daily actions in service of your ongoing better health and longevity. Your actions prevent and ease your handling of future challenges while sustaining you through demanding seasons—career pushes, caregiving, grief, and growth.

I still drift. I still renegotiate with myself. But I’m better at noticing earlier, recommitting faster, and choosing the smallest next step—one downward dog, one glass of water, one boundary, one night of decent sleep—at a time.

If you’re waiting for the “perfect time,” this is it. Pick something tiny. Anchor it. Layer it. Tell someone. And then—whether you’re 27, 54…or 71 (like me!)—participate in your own rescue.