I Spent $200 on Self-Care and Still Feel Like a Mess

It all started with an innocent scroll through Instagram — as most financially irresponsible decisions do.

I was in bed, doom-scrolling between memes, influencer beach photos, and ads convincing me that I was just one product away from becoming my best self. There it was — a glowing woman in activewear sipping what looked like magical green juice, her skin flawless, her vibe effortless. She looked calm, grounded, rich in serotonin. Me? I looked like I hadn't slept in three days, surrounded by snack wrappers, stress, and unpaid bills.

The caption read:

"Glow up your soul. Cleanse your aura. Realign your energy. Start your self-care journey today."

Apparently, my energy was misaligned. And that could be fixed for the low, low price of $45.

First on the list? A crystal-infused water bottle. It promised to promote positive energy, reduce anxiety, and boost hydration by "harnessing the power of amethyst." It looked aesthetically pleasing, so obviously, I bought it.

Spoiler alert: My anxiety remained undefeated, but my water now tasted faintly of overpriced regret.

Then came the self-care subscription box, advertised as "a monthly ritual to nourish your mind, body, and soul." For $70, it arrived two weeks late and contained:

A tiny soy candle with a scent called “Midnight Forest Enlightenment”

Bath salts for "energetic purification" — I don’t have a bathtub

A jade roller that squeaked loudly enough to ruin any peace I hoped to cultivate

And a journal embossed with “You are exactly where you need to be”

Which was ironic, considering where I was — mentally and physically — was broke, tired, and questioning my life choices.

But I wasn’t done.

I booked a $60 guided meditation workshop over Zoom, hosted by a woman with a suspiciously flawless background that screamed "Zoom filter from Bali" rather than her actual apartment. She told us to “release our worries into the universe” as we closed our eyes.

Right on cue, I got a notification reminding me my rent was due. Release my worries? Sis, I’m clutching them like emotional support animals.

Finally, I bought a $25 organic face mask that promised to detox my skin and realign my aura. It did neither. But it did give me a mild rash, which, in an unexpected plot twist, distracted me from my spiraling thoughts.

At this point, I had invested over $200 in the pursuit of inner peace. All I had to show for it was:

A fancy water bottle gathering dust

An unopened bag of bath salts

A half-burned candle I was too anxious to light indoors

A squeaky jade roller

A rash

And the sobering realization that capitalism had turned self-doubt into a booming industry

And yet, I still felt like a mess.

My kitchen sink was full of dirty dishes. My laundry pile looked like an Everest expedition. My mental health was hanging by a thread — a thread likely spun from ethically-sourced organic cotton, but still unraveling at record speed.

Here’s my confession: no amount of sage bundles, overpriced herbal teas, or meditation apps can fix what’s going on in my head when I’m avoiding the real issues. But the internet makes it so easy to believe that self-care can be delivered in a curated, recyclable box with a 20% off coupon.

It doesn’t work that way.

Self-care isn’t a jade roller or a candle labeled “Healing Energy.” It’s eating real food, drinking water because your body needs it (not because it’s been blessed by crystals), getting enough sleep, setting boundaries, and maybe, just maybe, talking to a therapist — the real kind, not the influencer in your feed offering astrology readings for $99 a session.

The truth? I spent $200 trying to buy my way to peace, but peace doesn’t come with a shipping confirmation email. What I did gain, however, was a comically tragic story and an appreciation for how absurd wellness culture can be.

And despite the disappointment, I’ll admit — lighting that overpriced candle during my existential crisis made my living room smell vaguely like a midnight forest. Was it worth it? Probably not. But at least I can say my breakdown had ambiance.

So yes, I spent $200 on self-care and still feel like a mess… but now I’m a mess with aesthetically pleasing skincare, spiritual-sounding tea, and enough bath salts to start my own spa — once I can afford a bathtub.

Until then, I’ll be over here, broke, anxious, and glowing… sort of.