At some point, “working on yourself” became a full-time job.
And I don’t mean the thoughtful, quiet kind of introspection you do when something cracks open. I mean the industrial-strength, spreadsheet-and-vision-board kind. The kind with habit trackers and accountability buddies and a $400 course you never finish.
You used to be a person. Now you’re an initiative.
A personal rebrand, every January
The minute the clock strikes midnight, you’re supposed to turn into your own marketing team.
Update the fonts. Rewrite the mission. Maybe lose five pounds. Definitely get up earlier.
It’s become so normal, we don’t even question it anymore. Of course you should overhaul your entire life between Boxing Day and Blue Monday. Who needs rest when you could optimize?
And let’s be honest. There’s a small hit of dopamine in imagining a shinier version of yourself. The one who doesn’t scroll at midnight. The one who reads The Economist and drinks lemon water. The one who maybe even flosses.
But that version of you? She’s not real. And she’s not better. She’s just quieter. Less complicated. Easier to brand.
The cult of self-optimization
It’s everywhere.
Podcasts that promise to “10x your life.”
Reels that push morning routines like they're cure-alls.
A general vibe that if you’re not actively fixing something, you’re falling behind.
We’ve turned self-improvement into self-surveillance.
You can’t go for a walk without wondering if you should be listening to something educational. You can’t journal without analyzing your mindset. You can’t eat toast without asking if it’s gluten-free, sprouted, or betraying your goals.
Everything becomes a referendum on your worth.
But here’s the thing
You are not a brand.
You are not a business plan.
You are not a fixer-upper.
You’re a human being. Which is already a lot. Most days, a miracle.
And while I love a good checklist as much as anyone (I once made a spreadsheet to plan a vacation and cried tears of joy), there’s a difference between structure and self-erasure.
Growth doesn’t mean becoming someone else
There’s nothing wrong with wanting things. Change can be sacred. Therapy helps. So do morning walks and green vegetables.
But none of it makes you more lovable.
You don’t need to earn your own affection by becoming more efficient. You don’t need to hold yourself hostage to a never-ending series of upgrades. You don’t need to achieve inner peace by Q2.
You can want growth without treating yourself like a problem to solve.
You can be a work in progress and still rest.
You don’t need a glow-up
That’s the quiet danger of all this: it makes you think your life is only worthy if it comes with a dramatic before-and-after.
As though the middle part—the part where you’re just showing up and making it through—isn’t worth noticing.
But here’s a wild idea: maybe the version of you who doesn’t wake up early, who sometimes forgets to reply to texts, who eats the cookie and buys the thing she didn’t need… maybe she is the one who deserves your loyalty.
Maybe that’s the self you’re supposed to come home to. Not fix. Not repackage. Just love.
The only advice I have
Burn the checklist.
Or at least put it in a drawer.
If you want to sign up for something this January, make it this:
More grace.
Fewer rules.
At least one day where you let yourself off the hook.
You don’t need a fresh start. You need a soft landing.
And maybe some toast. The real kind. With butter.