Redefining Self-Care: My Sunday Reset After a Hard Week

And Breathe - First Step in Self-Care

Friday was my birthday. Instead of blowing out candles or enjoying dinner with my family, I spent the day in a hospital bed dealing with some hormonal issues (TMI, I know). It wasn’t the celebration I had imagined, but it was a wake-up call. My body had been whispering for weeks that it needed attention, and I just wasn’t listening. By the time Friday came around, it was shouting.

As I lay there, hooked up to monitors, I thought about how often women like me put off caring for ourselves until it’s urgent. We power through fatigue, ignore the mood swings, dismiss the bloating or brain fog, and push our needs to the bottom of the list. But that birthday in the hospital reminded me of something simple yet profound: self-care isn’t a luxury. It’s survival.

And so when Sunday came, I made it my reset day, the day I recommit to listening to my body, especially as I navigate perimenopause, leaky gut, and all the challenges that come with them.

Breaking the Myth of Self-Care

For years, I believed self-care had to look like a spa day. Bubble baths, face masks, a massage appointment, things that sound relaxing but never really addressed the deeper issues I was struggling with. Don’t get me wrong, those things can feel good. But when your hormones are all over the place and your gut feels like it’s fighting you at every meal, surface-level fixes only go so far.

Real self-care is quieter. It’s saying “no” when your body needs rest, even if others don’t understand. It’s choosing food that heals instead of food that comforts in the moment but leaves you worse off later. It’s slowing down enough to notice what’s working and what isn’t.

That’s the version of self-care I’ve had to lean into, and Sunday has become my anchor for it.

My Sunday Rituals

I call Sundays my soft reset. They don’t fix everything, but they create a rhythm that helps me feel human again after a long week — or in this case, a long birthday in a hospital gown.

1. A Slow Start

Instead of jumping out of bed, I let myself ease into the day. A cup of warm lemon water calms my stomach and wakes me up gently. Coffee isn’t an option for me anymore with leaky gut, so this has become my ritual. I light a candle, take a few deep breaths, and let silence fill the room before the week ahead tries to swallow me whole.

2. Nourishing Food Choices

Food has turned into both my greatest challenge and my greatest medicine. With leaky gut, the wrong meal can leave me bloated and miserable for hours. So on Sundays, I take the time to prepare. I make bone broth, roast vegetables, and plan simple meals I know will soothe my system. Cooking this way doesn’t just feed me, it reassures me that I’m doing something proactive for my health.

3. Movement Without Pressure

Exercise used to feel like punishment. Now, it’s about connection. On Sundays I don’t force myself into anything intense. Sometimes it’s a long walk outside, breathing in the air and feeling the ground beneath my feet. Other times, it’s gentle stretching or wall Pilates in my bedroom. I don’t measure calories burned; I measure how present I feel in my body.

4. Digital Boundaries

By evening, I put my phone away. No endless scrolling, no comparing my real life to someone else’s highlight reel. Instead, I grab a journal. I jot down what my body went through during the week — the fatigue, the foods that flared my symptoms, the moments that made me laugh. It’s not just about tracking perimenopause and gut health; it’s about giving myself space to process what’s happening instead of bottling it all up.

5. Rest and Reflection

If this week taught me anything, it’s that rest is not optional. Perimenopause has already slowed me down in ways I didn’t expect, but rest has become less of a weakness and more of a strength. On Sundays, I let myself nap if I need to. I read, I pray, I sit quietly. My body thanks me every time I choose restoration over hustle.

Why These Rituals Matter

That hospital visit was a reminder I won’t forget: I can’t keep putting myself last. The reality is, when I ignore my needs, I pay for it, and so do the people around me. My kids notice when I’m short-tempered, my family feels it when I’m exhausted, and I feel it most of all when my body finally collapses under the weight of being ignored.

These Sunday rituals aren’t perfect. They don’t erase perimenopause symptoms or magically heal leaky gut. But they keep me steady. They remind me that I can’t pour from an empty cup, that showing up for my health means I can show up better for everyone else too.

A Note to Anyone Reading

If you’re walking through something similar — whether it’s hormonal chaos, digestive struggles, or just the stress of everyday life — I hope this encourages you. You don’t have to wait until a hospital bed forces you to slow down. Start now. Add one small ritual that makes you feel whole, and build from there.

For me, Sundays have become sacred. They’re the day I put myself back together, piece by piece. And maybe that’s the real definition of self-care: not the glamorous moments we share online, but the quiet choices we make to honor ourselves when nobody’s watching.