This post is the final installment of the ‘Radical Simplicity Series’—confronting futile ways we seek to get our life on the right path. Exposing and addressing these matters of the heart is significant to our effectiveness as the Church. For context, if you haven’t already, you can find the other articles here.

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Testifying about the deception of self-care feels a bit like pulling thread from the tapestry of women’s autonomy. But if (like me) you’ve ever felt enslaved by managing your own well-being, maybe you’re ready to see that tapestry unravel.

From the workplace and school, to church and home, self-care is championed as the way to ensure holistic well-being.

We enshrine prayer in mindfulness, meditation, and yoga asanas.

We eagerly schedule mental health days, spa days, vacation days, ‘me’ days.

We diet, exercise, socialize, regulate, moderate.

But for all the hype, is self-care actually working, or have we been mis-led?

When we hear, “Take time to treat yourself right,” and, “You be good to you,” the responsibility of our own wellness sounds empowering—even freeing—but with no objective standard, is it possible to always know what’s right and good for ourselves?

Does being good to myself mean eating zero, one, or two desserts?

Should I scroll social media in my sweats while sipping coffee, or whip-up a quick shake and go for a walk with the kids?

Do I need a dressed-up date night with my husband or a let-my-hair-down girl’s night?

We don’t like shifty. We prefer stable, controlled, dependable (that’s why bras and spandex were invented). Here’s a story of when my desire for control led me down the path of self-care.

You’re worth it.

Already late to my first class because of a debacle (involving my toddler streaking through the childcare center), I crept quietly between yoga mats, hoping not to trip on someone as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

The shades opened and class continued in sunlight. It felt good to stretch, push, and burn muscles I’d forgotten since delivery.

Great. Is this when she’ll try to anoint us with oils, ask us to chant, or have us do a welcome pose to mother earth?

Since I’d grown to trust her voice (the instructor’s, not mother earth’s) I followed her lead, but kept alert for any pagan-idolatry-shenanigans.

What happened next made diary-status because it was a profoundly spiritual experience. Little did I know, I was about to buy-in to a very crafty deception.

The allure of self-care: rejuvenation and wholeness.

Her tone changed from commanding drill-instructor to loving big sister; her words enveloped us all.

“What you’ve done here today is really something and should be celebrated, but remember, you are more than your body.”

Huh. That’s so kind. I bet some women here really need to hear this!

You are a human being, not a human doing.”

This sounds familiar. I’ve heard this sort of thing in Christian spiritual direction.

“Acknowledge your whole self, not just the parts you can see. Are you tired? Rest. Are you caring for others? Take time to care for you. Your care is just as important as the ones you care for.”

Wow, maybe I’m a woman who needs to hear this—I am always taking care of everybody else!

“You are a woman, unique and special. Discover your passion, awaken your desire, and take your own journey. You deserve to be fully alive. You are worth it.”

There was no doubt I’d encountered spirit, and I convinced myself it was holy.

The reality of self-care: unsatisfied longings.

In the name of well-being, I vowed to take my womanhood seriously. I’d never been keen on the spa or girl-time but I needed to make the sacrifice for my family. Right?

I used ‘me’ time to gain more self-knowledge, then expected love to overflow to my family. But instead of overflow, I still felt lack. I longed to feel closer to my husband and daughters. I loved them but struggled to give them my best.

What I didn’t know was the cares of this world cannot be resolved by taking better care of ourselves. Or, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer states in The Cost of Discipleship, “. . . We are trying to drive out care with care, and the net result is the precise opposite of our anticipation.”

When I felt convicted of selfishness, I was told (emphatically) that self-care was not selfish, but God’s way of helping me take care of my family. Better self-care would lead to better family care.

Who decides when we cross from self-care to selfish? That’s up to our own discretion too.

The fruit of self-care: neglect.

Inevitably, the more I obsessed over my needs, the greater they appeared. I spent more time with women because they understood my plight.

I perceived many of my Christian girlfriends were silently wrestling with addictions because I was aware of my own. All of us desperate for wholeness, yet maintaining privacy, we didn’t know how to share our struggles.

From “Christian” yoga and prayer crystals to exploring our passions and living fantasies, the very practices that promised to awaken and free us, isolated and shackled us.

For a few months, during the darkest time of this season, I pulled away (both physically and emotionally) from my husband, harbored bitterness toward men (which was punctuated by sexual abuse suffered before I met Marc), and rehearsed the ways I’d been victimized.

These are all posts for another day, but in short, I believed if I didn’t care for myself, no one would. It was up to me.

Self-care was my cover for unbelief. I didn’t trust God would be good to me.

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Surrendering my care.

When we come to the end of ourselves and all the help, knowledge, and care we can muster, we have someone to go to. Jesus, the crucified and resurrected Christ, offers Himself as our rest. He doesn’t offer information, a cosmic Christ, Christ consciousness, a self-care plan, or merely a spiritual encounter.

He’s a person, with a body; the King we’ll soon stand in front of.

He invites anyone who hears His voice to come to Him and receive directly; no middle-man (or woman) needed.

“Come to Me all who are weary or heavily burdened [by religious rituals that provide no peace], and I will give you rest [refreshing your souls with salvation]. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me [following Me as My disciple], for I am gentle and humble of heart, and you will find rest (renewal, blessed quiet) for your souls. For my yoke is easy [to bear] and my burden is light.”

~Jesus

Matthew 11: 28-30 (AMP)

His words are powerful and invitational. I’m still learning what it means to take His yoke, in place of my own. It has me rethinking self-governance and admitting I don’t know what I need, or what’s good for me. His words also have me wondering what it means to be an empowered woman. Where is my power coming from? Or better yet, from whom? What is its purpose?

In surrendering my cares over to my Father, He gives rest that feels like wholeness and peace. In trusting His care for me—to know what’s good and right for me—I’m free to relax and enjoy Him like a child. Now that I spend more time enjoying Him (when He wakes me up, or invites me on a walk) I know I’m being transformed by His love, and that love overflows to my family and others.

He often wakes me up in the middle of the night. In these moments, it’s hard to believe He’s caring for me. . . I need my sleep! I don’t always get up, but each time I do—each act done in faith—it’s rewarded. (I know the Father got Jesus up, too.)

In class, our instructor had said I was worth it to take on the burden of care for my life (and self-care proves to be quite a burden), but Jesus already took on every burden.

He showed us all, “You’re worth it,” as He sacrificially went to the cross.

I used to believe freedom meant having all the options and being open to trying everything, but I found that only led to slavery. No more. Give me radical simplicity: just give me Jesus.

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