Wellness

The first time I heard about the 5:2 fasting method, I was poking around the internet at 10 p.m. in sweatpants with a half-finished pint of ice cream. So, the irony was not lost on me. Still, I was intrigued—not because I needed another “diet,” but because it didn’t sound like one. No cutting out carbs. No militant calorie counting. Just five days of normal eating and two “fasting” days each week. Could it be… that simple?

We’ve all been there before, standing in front of the fridge, staring down the yogurt that’s two days past its "best by" date, and wondering, Is this still okay to eat? Or the bag of baby spinach that looks like it’s seen better days but technically hasn’t passed its "sell by" date. Does it stay or go?

I used to forget to drink water. Not in a cute, “oops, too busy” kind of way—more like, I’d go the whole day and realize my lips felt like paper, my head was pounding, and the only liquid I’d consumed was a triple-shot latte. Twice.

Imagine this: You've accepted yet another invitation to a gathering, scrolling through social media feeds filled with highlighted life events, all while a small voice inside silently screams for solitude. It may seem paradoxical—being overwhelmed in a world that values connections. Yet, managing social burnout is an issue more individuals face today but few discuss openly. It’s a subtle weight, subtly impacting our mental well-being and harmony in relationships. We find ourselves juggling countless interactions, but at what cost? Let's take a dive into understanding what social burnout is, why it happens, and how it can be properly managed.

I used to tell myself I was just “a night owl.” That my best ideas came alive at midnight, that scrolling until 2 a.m. was my creative recharge. But if I’m honest, most of those nights weren’t filled with inspiration—they were filled with Netflix replays, endless swiping, and a stubborn refusal to close the laptop. Morning me hated it. Nighttime me didn’t care.

A few months ago, I opened my fridge late at night to find a half-filled container of rice from dinner. Normally, I would have sighed, considered tossing it, and then shoved it back behind the almond milk until I forgot about it. But I had just stumbled across an intriguing detail from a nutrition seminar: chilled rice doesn’t behave the same way as freshly cooked rice inside your body.

I used to think productivity was the gold standard of a good day. If I could end the night with a to-do list peppered with checkmarks, I’d feel accomplished—maybe even smug. But if I had a slow day? One where my most ambitious achievement was making coffee and… not much else? That used to feel like failure.

The first time I saw the “glass skin” trend take over my feed, I was mesmerized. Dewy, translucent, almost surreal skin that looked like it had been dipped in moonlight. It was everywhere—YouTube tutorials, skincare launches, step-by-step routines with ten or more products all promising that coveted glow. I was hooked.

It usually hits around 3:17 p.m. Not quite late enough to call it a day, but far enough from lunch that your blood sugar is playing tricks. The to-do list is still staring back at you, and your brain feels like it’s swimming through molasses.

It wasn’t a dramatic moment. Just an afternoon at my desk, glancing from my screen to the window, and realizing that the trees outside looked a little… softer. Not poetic soft—blurry soft. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, looked again. Still fuzzy.

Let’s get one thing straight: I love a good wellness glow-up as much as the next girl. I’ve pinned the oat milk matcha shots. I’ve followed the 10-step skincare routines. I’ve saved the color-coded morning checklists with soft girl sunrise vibes.

On some days, the world feels like a weight we can scarcely hold. It's a feeling as universal as breathing yet deeply personal in its complexity. Imagine standing on a shoreline, watching the waves—sometimes they soothe, other times they overwhelm. We all have our ways of riding the swells, and on the most challenging days, a reliable self-care ritual can feel like a life raft.