I get approached by a lot of people in the “wellness space”. They want me to try their products, promote their programmes, drink their powders, wear their patches, sleep on their special mats or commit to some life-changing new ritual that apparently will transform me from mildly tired and slightly hormonal into a radiant moon goddess with perfect digestion. It’s a lot.
Everyone seems to be in wellness now. But what does that even mean? Years ago, if someone said they worked in wellness, I imagined they were maybe a yoga teacher, a nutritionist or someone who knew how to calm a nervous system without charging you $89 for a starter pack.
Now it could mean anything. They could sell magnesium or mushroom coffee. And maybe some of it’s brilliant. I’m sure some of these people are genuinely qualified and doing wonderful work. But how are we really supposed to know?
These days, a woman can put “wellness coach” in her Instagram bio, film herself making a green drink in activewear, and suddenly we’re all expected to trust her with our hormones, gut health and our emotional stability.
When wellness feels like work
Modern wellness has started to feel less like self-care and more like admin. Apparently, it’s no longer enough to simply survive a Monday. Now I need a sleep routine, magnesium glycinate, electrolytes, protein, collagen, gut support, hydration powders, red-light therapy, a gratitude journal and a morning walk where I expose my eyeballs to natural sunlight in the first seven minutes of the day.
I don’t even expose myself to other humans in the first seven minutes of the day! It’s also become wildly expensive. Companies sell us the idea that better health is just one more purchase away. One more supplement. One more course. One more programme that promises to help us become our best selves. But I don’t always want to become my best self. Sometimes I just want a cup of tea and an early night.
The pressure to optimise
The pressure to optimise every part of your life can leave you feeling worse, not better. If our “healing journey” needs a spreadsheet, a direct debit and a cupboard full of powders, perhaps we’ve lost the plot.
I’m all for looking after ourselves, but maybe real wellness is a bit less glamorous than social media makes it look. Maybe it’s laughing with a friend. Drinking water. Going to bed. Saying no. Turning your phone off. And not taking health advice from a woman whose main qualification is owning a beige blender.
