The Myth of Self Care and the Medicine of Self Rapport

I’m not a fan of self-care.

At least not the way it's often sold to us—something you squeeze in once you’ve burned yourself out. A massage. A bath. A candle. A checklist of soothing interventions. It can feel like applying a band-aid to a gaping wound. Like trying to be "OK" without ever telling the truth about what’s not.

There aren't enough spa days in the world to address the places inside ourselves we've abandoned. The parts we've quarantined. The emotional scaffolding we try to build over grief, depletion, loneliness, or quiet despair.

What I’m an advocate for—what I believe changes lives—is self-rapport.

Self-rapport is the relationship you build with your inner world. It's not performative. It’s not something you post. It’s what happens when you stop negotiating with your worth, stop managing your emotions like they’re liabilities, and start being in real, moment-to-moment connection with yourself.

When we live from self-rapport, our choices emerge from alignment. We don’t have to schedule kindness toward ourselves—it becomes instinctual. We don’t need a “self-care” routine because we’re already in relationship with our needs. In this space, even a busy life can hold space for humanity. You don’t have to abandon yourself to function in the world.

But in this culture, we’re taught to celebrate results over self-rapport. Productivity over presence. The more someone sacrifices their well-being in pursuit of success, the more we admire them. We reward the hustle. We glorify the collapse. We praise the person who is “still standing” after denying themselves for months or years.

But self-rapport doesn’t care about optics.

It’s not about looking flawless in golden hour lighting, or meditating in linen on a curated retreat. It’s not about being lovable once you’ve achieved, healed, or cleaned yourself up.

Self-rapport is loving yourself at your lowest.
In the chaos. In the fatigue. In the version of yourself that’s hard to show others.
It’s staying close when everything in you wants to leave.

That’s where something real begins.