Women’s mental health matters, yo, and I’m not just tossing that out there to sound woke. I’m slouched on my lumpy couch in my Seattle apartment, rain hammering the window like it’s tryna break in, and my cat’s staring at me like I owe her rent. I used to think self-care was for those Insta chicks with their matcha lattes and perfect buns (hair buns, get your mind out the gutter). But, like, I was so wrong. Last month, I was a total disaster—bawling in my car outside Target cause I forgot my list and my reusable bags. That’s when it hit me: women’s mental health isn’t just some hashtag, it’s my whole deal right now, and I’m gonna spill my guts about it.
Why Women’s Mental Health Gets Ignored Like Last Week’s Laundry
Real talk? I’m the worst at putting myself first. My boss needs a slide deck by midnight? I’m on it. My friend’s freaking out cause her situationship imploded? I’m there, half-asleep, muttering, “He’s trash, you’re a queen.” But my own mental wellness? Nah, that was like the moldy leftovers in my fridge—outta sight, outta mind. I saw this thing on Psychology Today saying women are twice as likely to deal with anxiety and depression. TWICE. And I was out here thinking my mental health struggles were just me being a drama queen. Plot twist: They’re not. Bet you’ve been there too.
Here’s the dumb stuff I kept doing:
- Guilt vibes: Felt like taking a bath or bailing on plans was me screwing someone over.
- Hustle BS: Thought working till I dropped was goals, but it just left me zapped.
- Insta envy: Kept scrolling past women who looked like they had it all. (Spoiler: They’re lying.)
My Hot Mess of a Self-Care for Women Journey
Alright, lemme tell you about my low point. Few weeks ago, I’m at this hipster coffee shop in Capitol Hill, laptop open, acting like I’m productive. My latte’s cold, my inbox is a warzone, and I’m legit about to cry into my scone. I’d been pretending my mental health struggles were no biggie for months, like I could just yeet them away. Big mistake. I grabbed my journal—yeah, I’m that basic now—and just scribbled nonsense like “I suck” and “Why am I even here?” Then I stumbled on this NAMI page about women’s mental health, and it was like, “Oh, this is ME.” I started small: ten minutes of meditation (I fell asleep, whoops), a walk in the park, muting toxic group chats. It’s not Insta-worthy, but it’s something.
Here’s my messy takeaways:
- Tiny steps count. Staring at a candle for five minutes while my cat glares? That’s self-care, baby.
- Say “no” sometimes. Told my coworker I couldn’t fix her PowerPoint, and the sky didn’t fall. Nuts, right?
- Spill your guts. Told my bestie I was a wreck, and she didn’t ghost me—she spilled her own tea.
Women’s Well-Being: Stuff That’s Kinda Working for Me
I ain’t no expert, okay? My kitchen’s a disaster, I’m pretty sure my plants are dead, and I ate cereal for dinner yesterday. But I’ve found some self-care for women hacks that don’t feel like I’m faking it. I started walking in Volunteer Park every morning—smells like wet pine and freedom, and there’s this squirrel I’m lowkey friends with. Journaling’s been clutch too—not aesthetic, just me word-vomiting on paper, typos and all. It’s like my brain’s unclogging itself.
Therapy’s been huge, even if I was side-eyeing it at first. Found someone on BetterHelp who doesn’t flinch when I ramble about crying over burnt toast. Also, I’m tryna eat better—not like, influencer salad crap, but real food. Turns out, not running on coffee and panic is good for women’s well-being. Go figure.
The Weird Crap I Didn’t Expect
Self-care for women isn’t what I thought, y’all. I tried those viral face masks, and yeah, they’re cute, but they didn’t fix my soul. Know what did? Admitting I was falling apart. Like, out loud. I called my mom, braced for her to say, “Toughen up,” but she got all quiet and said she’d been there too. That messed me up—in a good way. Women’s mental health matters cause we’re all lugging around work drama, family stuff, the pressure to be “perfect.” Saying it out loud makes it less heavy.
Also, screwing up is fine. I missed a therapy session cause I was glued to some trashy Netflix show (no regrets), and my therapist was like, “It’s cool, life’s a mess.” That hit deep. Mental wellness ain’t a straight line—it’s a wiggly, drunk-on-wine kinda path, and I’m here for it.
Wrapping Up This Mental Health Rant
So yeah, I’m still a work in progress. My desk’s buried in sticky notes like “You’re not trash” and “Stop doomscrolling.” Women’s mental health matters, and I’m done pretending it’s optional. I’m just some 30-something in Seattle tryna keep it together. If you’re struggling, you ain’t alone, I promise. Try one small thing today—a walk, a scribble, a snack that’s not just crumbs. Wanna share your own messy story? Drop it below or DM me—I’m nosy AF.
Outbounding Links:-
Self-Care Isn’t Selfish: Women’s Mental Health Matters
Resources on women’s mental health, caregiving, and social media habits
Explores unique mental health challenges women face and care gaps.
