Self-care has become one of those words that means almost everything and therefore sometimes means nothing. Face masks and bubble baths and long walks and saying no to plans all get filed under self-care, which sounds nice, but doesn’t always reflect what’s actually going on. Because there is an important difference between taking care of yourself and soothing yourself, and for a lot of women—especially women who have been through hard things—the second one gets mistaken for the first.
Self-soothing is what you do to get through the moment. It may look like having a glass of wine after a brutal day, scrolling on socials for two hours more than you meant to, or re-watching the show you’ve already seen three times because it requires nothing from you. None of these things are inherently bad. Soothing is human, and it’s sometimes exactly what the moment calls for. The problem is when soothing becomes the only tool in the toolbox, the thing you reach for every time something hard surfaces, meaning the hard thing never actually gets addressed.
Self-care, in the truest sense, is less comfortable than the word suggests. It’s the therapy appointment you keep even when you don’t want to talk about what’s coming up. It’s the hard conversation you have instead of letting resentment quietly accumulate. It’s the boundary you hold even when the other person is upset about it. It’s moving your body, not because you necessarily want to, but because your body is something worth tending to. Sometimes it’s even asking for help, which for many of us is the hardest thing on the list. Self-soothing manages discomfort, but self-care builds the capacity to tolerate it.
The distinction matters because self-soothing, when it is doing the work that self-care is supposed to do, tends to create a loop. You feel something difficult —> You soothe it —> The difficult thing is still there —> You feel it again, more intensely now because it hasn’t been addressed —> You soothe it again. Over time, the soothing has to work harder to do less, and the underlying thing—grief, discomfort, a crossed boundary—doesn’t go anywhere.
I see this a lot in my work, and I want to say it with compassion: women who have spent their lives taking care of everyone else are often the least practiced at actual self-care. They are often very practiced at soothing, and have gotten good at getting through. What they haven’t always had is permission—or a model—for what it looks like to tend to themselves in a way that actually moves something forward. And they deserve more than just getting through.
This is not about eliminating the things that bring you comfort. It’s about getting honest with yourself about what a given habit is actually doing. Is this restoring me or is it helping me avoid? Is this something I’m doing because it genuinely makes me feel better, or because I don’t want to sit with what I’m feeling long enough to understand it? Both questions are worth asking yourself without shame, just with curiosity.
The goal is not perfection. It’s not about trading your Netflix habit for a meditation practice and calling yourself healed. It’s about building a life where you have access to both—where you can soothe yourself when you need to rest, and where you have the support and the tools to actually tend to the things underneath when they need tending. That combination is what real self-care looks like, and you deserve to have that. And I’ll believe it for you until you’re ready to believe it for yourself.
If This Resonates
If you’ve been getting through but not really getting better, and you’re ready to explore what tending to yourself actually looks like, I’d love to be part of that conversation.
When you’re ready, you’re welcome to schedule a confidential consultation.
For continued reflections on emotional wellness and building a life that actually sustains you, consider subscribing here on Substack and following along on Instagram and Facebook. For therapist-recommended books and resources on self-care and emotional healing, follow my Pinterest for curated recommendations.
With you,
Charlene, LMHC & Trauma-Informed Coach