I’m going to start this off by stating what is probably an unpopular opinion.

The ‘self-care’ phenomenon that has taken over social media is a lie.

A bath bomb, massage, or morning cup of coffee is not going to solve any internal issues you have, nor is it going to make you a better person. It is just a surface-level fix that looks good on Instagram.

The truth is, real self-care is messy. It is uncomfortable, and filled with anxious moments where you are asking yourself why you thought it was a good idea to do this. Real self-care means making time to sit with yourself and figure out what is draining you or holding you back. It is forcing yourself to stop making excuses and start working to solve your issues instead. Avoiding them and hiding behind a Netflix binge is fun, but nothing good ever comes out of that.

You see, self-care involves hard work that nobody wants to invest time in. I avoided doing this for years because facing insecurities, failures, and things that make you an imperfect human is painful, and at times, lonely. It’s much easier to be positive and say, “it’s fine!” to things that clearly aren’t fine and hope that every personal issue miraculously fixes themselves without your attention.

Except it doesn’t work like that. Just like a home, you can’t avoid the things that need fixing and expect to the foundation to never crumble. I eventually realized that the longer I made these issues wait, the harder it was to accept even small failures, and my ability and willingness to bounce back and try again was becoming severely hindered. This isn’t a result that is unique to me; it will happen to anyone who follows the same path of avoidance.

So put down the phone, stop saying you’re too busy, and make time for self-care. Spend time with the messiest parts of you, the ones that make your stomach do gymnastic-level flips. Those parts are the magic you need to start that incredible life you deserve.

Just breathe, and begin.

One of my good friends has this seashell that she is absolutely obsessed with. Her Instagram feed is filled with photos featuring it, and there’s even a personalized hashtag. I never understood her attachment to this seemingly simple object until the day she lost it, and posted this explanation:

“ To most, this is just a shell. But to me, it was a reminder. A reminder that even though something may be broken, or imperfect, it can still be beautiful. A reminder to take a bad situation and find the good in it. A reminder that there is always something to be thankful for.”

I read that, and it finally clicked. We all have things that help center us when it feels like the ground underneath us is about break. Things that keep us calm when all we want to do is scream and lose control. For her, it’s the shell. I have a makeshift art gallery in my room that also serves this purpose, and you might have your own thing.

Life is messy, heartbreaking, and just plain hard. Just like we have simple things that bring us hope, we also have things that bring us down. It’s the boxes that house social media posts, and the spoken words from people who say we’re not good enough and fill us with doubt. That’s where the seashell comes in.

You see, my friend’s seashell can’t scroll through social media. It can’t hear anything people say. It can’t criticize itself when it recognizes its imperfections. The only thing the seashell can do is just be, and wait for someone like my friend to notice its magic.

The objects that ground us help reflect the way we should see ourselves. We aren’t perfect, but we’re still beautiful. Life isn’t always pretty, but it’s still good. And when it all seems to be going wrong, the object is there to help us take a moment away from the chaos and be thankful for something, even if its just for that moment of peace.

Oh, and the famous seashell I said was lost? A group of great humans came together, removed some rocks, and reunited it with my friend. How’s that for a happy ending?

I think of all the people whose light I’ve stood behind — friends, lovers, family. I’ve made a life out of dimming my own light to a shade of pale grey, just so others could stand center stage and shine bright.

But you see, the times are changing. The pale grey shadows I’ve gotten so comfortable with are becoming restless. They’re wanting a chance to be different, and experience this sunlight I’m desperate to keep them away from.

I tell them it’s not going to be easy, changing from shadows to sunlight. It’s uncomfortable and exhausting becoming a person you’ve never been before, and I’m not sure if I want to take that chance. It’s easier to just fall behind those much stronger than me.

“But isn’t that the magic of change?”, the shadows replied. “It may be painful, but isn’t the opportunity to become a version of yourself that exceeds your wildest dreams worth the risk? Isn’t the feeling of warm sunshine on your face worth the work it takes to get there?”

Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s time to stop being comfortable living in the shadows, and start stepping out a little at a time. Toe by toe, finger by finger, until the pale greys turn into bright yellows. Maybe then I’ll look back at this time, and thank the shadows for telling me their days of keeping me safe were over.

I saw you from a distance, and told my friend you were the one I wanted.

I gave you a chance, but you still left.

We talked at a bar, kissed on a rooftop, and walk around a quiet town.

I gave you my hand, but you still left.

I showed you the dark parts of me, the damaged sides I hid from the world. You listened, and said you understood.

I gave you my heart, but you still left.

You started to fall, and I worked to help you get back on your feet. I worked to help you see the person I fell in love with, the person I needed you to become.

I gave you my strength, but you still left.

I introduced you to my mom, my greatest treasure. She treated you like a son, as if you really were the one. You tossed her kindness and love aside as if she wasn’t worthy.

I chose you over my mom’s warnings, but you still left.

We fought in a parking lot over my need for more, my need for security. I’ll never forget your face as you ran out of my car and slammed the door, leaving me all alone.

I chased after you because I thought we were destined to be together, but you still left.

The day of our anniversary, I cried more than I had in years. I felt only half-alive, barely breathing because my heart was walking away from me.

I was dying inside, but you still left.

My first day of a new job, you sent me a text saying your needs were more important than saving our relationship. A day that should’ve been sunny, turned into rain, all over words on a screen that cut like a knife. Words that should’ve been said in person.

I said goodbye, thinking you’d realize what you lost and come back to me, but you still left.

You blamed me for problems I fought to help you solve. I lost my dreams, my hopes, my joy, all so you could shine.

I destroyed myself thinking you were the one, but you still left.

And even now, as I lie on the ground, surrounded by broken pieces I can’t seem to repair, I go back to the time I saw you from a distance and told my friend that you were the one I wanted.

I gave you everything, and I’d do it all over again, even though you would still leave.

I’m not a dreamer. I don’t believe in creating dreams.

Now, before you get angry and exit out of this — hear me out. I’m not “anti-dream.” If you have a dream that you’ve had forever and are currently chasing, then kudos! That’s awesome, and I hope you achieve whatever it is. I just don’t agree with that idea anymore.

I used to be a dreamer myself, actually. I spent a good majority of my life coming up with dreams, and matching road maps that I would follow to achieve them. It wasn’t until fairly recently that I gave all of that up and switched my mindset.

And as soon as I stopped dreaming, I really started to let myself live.

While most people use dreams to help propel themselves forward, mine seemed to have the opposite effect. I noticed that my dreaming habit held me back from a lot. I spent so much time forcing myself to stick to my carefully prepared “dream road map” that I left zero room for error or change. Long story short, none of those dreams that I created in my head came true. I found myself falling into a depression that only became deeper with every failed dream. I didn’t understand why none of them worked out for me.

So I threw out the road maps. I threw out the dreams. And I was finally able to breathe again.

It was like I had given myself a clean slate: with no more dreams, or road maps, there were no rules. No expectations. It was the second chance I was desperately looking for.

I started to replace the dreams with random things that I was kind of interested in, but never actually entertained enough to figure out what they were about.

I started with modern calligraphy/hand lettering. I walked around with the idea, following it around on Instagram and Pinterest. I began teaching myself different styles, testing out different pens, and creating some really cool stuff. Hand lettering soon turned into an interest in drawing, which led me to photography, and now I’m beginning to learn about floral design.

By abandoning my “dream” mindset, I gave myself the freedom to develop a bunch of really cool hobbies that give my life meaning.

I’ve met some great people, restored my confidence, and have become more comfortable with being alone ever since I stopped dreaming. I don’t have any expectations for these hobbies. I’m not determined to make any of them a professional career, but if that’s where it decides to take me, then I’ll follow along. It’s freeing to follow these interests, and have no set plan for them. I let them arrive and morph into whatever they want to become. And you know what? its actually been really fun doing that.

I suppose that the best way to put this is that when I stopped dreaming, I started living.

“ You can’t let your degree go to waste, Nicole. The longer you wait, the less you’ll know about the field.”

“Well, that’s…different.”

These, among countless others, are questions/comments I get from people after I casually tell them that I’m not looking for a job in my field because I’ve decided to take my chances at becoming a writer. You can imagine the stares and awkward smiles I’ve gotten to compliment the words. I’ve finally gotten the inspiration and the time to write the story of how I came to this decision, and hopefully it’ll explain almost everything.

First off, I have no shame in telling you that I chose my major simply because studying advertising encouraged my awkward habit of memorizing every commercial I see/hear, and I was running out of time to pick something. I got into the program with my writing and some Irish luck. My parents didn’t really ask me questions about my major choice, mostly because they were just thankful I was still in college since I didn’t want to be there to begin with.

I studied advertising/public relations for the two and a half years that I spent at UCF. Although I had a great time learning theories and concepts and meeting a lot of interesting people, I never developed a passion for the subject. Sure, the idea that I was working towards getting a job in an advertising or public relations agency that represented cool clients was fun to say, but the entire time I felt like I was just telling people what they wanted to hear. I managed to maintain this false dream of mine through graduation and into the first month of post grad, until a simple twist a fate occured and changed my perspective.

Back in January, my writing got published on a website other than my own for the first time. It was at that moment in which my crazy writing dream was born. I started submitting work as part of applications to different websites, which led to being featured on another website and a job as a contributing writer. I don’t ever want to lose the feeling of genuine accomplishment after writing my honest thoughts, and the happiness I get after reading comments from a complete stranger about how one of my pieces helped them accept even the smallest quirk about themselves.

It’s amazing what happens when you discover something that makes you happy and decide to run with it. You become calmer, and learn to take things one day at a time. Of course, some days are better than others, but you never lose that spark that keeps you going. The spark that doesn’t allow you to give up after a bad day, but helps you realize that tomorrow is another chance to get it right. You start to notice the little details about the world around you, because the unlikeliest thing or person always provides the best inspiration. These reasons are why I chose to write instead of following the plan like the crowd thought I would.

I don’t believe in having a solid plans since 99 percent of the time they don’t work out the way you think, so I have zero clue about how this is all going to work out. Actually, I don’t even know if this is even going to work out. All I know is that I’m pretty sure I’m onto something great. My best years are still ahead of me, and in the words of John Mayer, I’m having the time of my life figuring out this next move.

I had nothing against college. It sounded like a fun time, and I was happy to witness the joy of my friends as they received their acceptance letters to their dream schools. I just didn’t believe it was for me. The whole school experience didn’t mesh well with me, and I wasn’t up for four more years of sitting in cold classrooms filled with empty stares, learning about something that would only apply to my life for about 18 weeks. Also, while some people knew exactly what their major was going to be from the moment they were born, I had zero leads. I felt like I would be going to college just for the experience, and that sounded like a waste of my parent’s money.

The battle was over in mid May, when I finally decided to go for an AA degree at the local community college. If you know me, you know that I actually ended up loving college, stayed for four and a half years instead of just two, and got a Bachelor’s degree. College was one of the best experiences of my life, and I’m so glad I changed my mind and went for it, but here’s a little known fact — after all my time there, I never found that perfect major. I’m being completely honest when I say that it was pure luck that I got into the major I got my degree in, and that I only chose it because I was running out of options and it just sounded cool. Although the classes were enjoyable and I learned a lot of interesting things while meeting some great people, I never had a true attachment for the subject. When asked where I saw myself in five years, doing something in that field didn’t seem to fit the picture I was drawing in my head.

This internal struggle came full circle a couple of months after graduation, when I started to look for post grad jobs. The feeling that I didn’t belong in the field that I studied for years kept coming back to me, stronger than ever, and it wasn’t until I got my writing published for the first time that the feeling subsided. I realized that I wanted to keep doing this. I wanted to keeping going on this path of being an honest writer. I finally figured out that the one thing I saw myself doing five years from now had little to do with my degree. After freaking out a little about wasting thousands of dollars on something that I was afraid I wasn’t ever going to use, I came to the conclusion that a degree is simply a piece of paper that has the ability to get you noticed and to open doors. You’re not in a marriage with it, and their won’t be any hard feelings if you decided to take a different path other than the one you planned while in school. I stopped believing that it was a waste of money; if anything, it was money well spent, because I wouldn’t have been able to get some writing jobs had I not studied what I did, and college overall taught me more things that my 18 year old self thought possible.

A character on a popular show said once that you have a better chance at winning the lottery than finding the one. I believe this applies to majors as well. There’s only about a one in a million chance that you’ll find the perfect one in four years.The majority of people often find themselves like me, studying something they don’t particularly enjoy but keep going simply because they need to graduate with something. If this is you, the best advice I can give is to create a list of every single possible career path you’d like to peruse, regardless if it matches your degree or not, and include the things that you find yourself doing in your spare time. Don’t limit yourself. Remember, the degree helps you open the doors of opportunity. It’s the journey that you decide to embark on that matters.