Don’t Know What to Do This Weekend? Try These 10 Self-Love Rituals

You’ve spent all week answering emails like they were love letters, nodding at your boss like you weren’t dying inside, and eating cereal for dinner while romanticizing your microwave beep. Babe—you’ve earned this weekend. And not to play therapist, but maybe it’s time you stopped “just getting through it” and started actually living in it. So no, we’re not booking flights to Tulum (unless you are, in which case—jealous). We’re keeping it homegrown and holy: a weekend that feels like a love affair with your own damn self. From facial massages to flirting with your fridge organization, here are ten rituals to reclaim your weekends—and your sanity—with the kind of soft, stunning glow that makes people ask if you’ve “been somewhere.”


Light a candle that smells like generational wealth and questionable decisions in Paris. Light a candle—not because it’s aesthetic, but because your bathroom lighting makes you look like a guilty raccoon. Put on your robe. Move slowly. Moisturize like you’re narrating your own Vogue “Get Ready With Me” and the camera crew’s just invisible. Let your skin marinate in serums like it’s prepping for a red carpet, not a Google Meet.


Dim the lights. Turn on purple, galaxy, or whatever LED magic you have. Set your soundtrack: rain, forest, thunder—something that screams “mystical woodland fairy but make it hot.” Step into the shower and release. As the water hits, visualize every annoying coworker, every weird comment, every moment of emotional labor going down the drain. Repeat: “I release what doesn’t serve me.” Also repeat: “I am stunning.” Because duh.


You don’t need a spa. Grab a bucket. Feet in a warm bucket. Conditioner in the water. Add coffee grounds or sugar to your body wash and exfoliate like you’re preparing your legs to be seen by a man who doesn’t deserve them. Moisturize. Paint your nails. Admire. Wiggle your toes and whisper, “We’re never settling again.”


Lie on your bed. Put on spa music. (Search: “Zen Japanese Temple Rain” if you're fancy.) Warm up some oil and use your fingertips like you’re playing a love song on your scalp. Massage your head, neck, collarbones. Imagine your stress melting off you like you’re a pat of butter in a hot pan. Your third eye just blinked.


Facial yoga: the art of looking stupid alone so you can look snatched in public. Hop onto YouTube. Pick a facial yoga or massage video with a thumbnail that screams, “Glow-up imminent.” Stretch, roll, lift. Laugh at your fish face, then watch your jawline pop like a plot twist. You’ll look like someone who drinks chlorophyll and never texts their ex. (Whether that’s true or not is your business.)


Call your bestie. Put on the workout set that makes you feel like a rich divorcee who drinks green juice and knows her worth. Do a YouTube workout that burns but also makes you feel sexy. Then grab smoothies and talk about how “you’ve just been prioritizing wellness lately” like the glowing icons you are.


This isn’t your usual “move the pile from bed to chair” nonsense. Not the fake clean. Not the “shove it all in a drawer and hope for the best” clean. We’re talking dust-under-the-bed, color-code-your-closet, wash-the-sheets kind of clean. Vacuum the haunted corners under your bed. Wash your sheets like your skin depends on it (because it kinda does). Throw out that one earring with no partner—it's been single for three years, sis, let it go.


Open Notion. Pretend you’re the CEO of your life (because you are). Review the chaos of the last 7 days. Plan the next. Budget a little (cry if necessary). Read one page of a self-help book and pretend you’ve always been this put together. Journal something slightly dramatic. Plan your next seven days like someone who doesn’t wait until Monday morning to have a breakdown.


Groceries. Toiletries. The oat milk you swear by but always forget. Clean fridge = clean vibe. Organize it like you’re about to film a haul video. Wander the aisles with soft music in your headphones and a vague feeling of hope. Meal prep or just look at your veggies and say, “Not today.” The point is: you tried.


Text the group chat: “Bring snacks. We’re nesting.” Popcorn. A ridiculous romcom. Homemade facials. Card games. Sharing secrets and snacks like you’re 15 again, except now you have better skincare and worse dating stories. Make something from a YouTube recipe and pretend it’s Michelin-starred. You’re not just hanging out—you’re healing.

You’re not doing “too much.” You’re just doing what’s required to feel like yourself again. And frankly, anyone who doesn’t get that can go talk to someone else about it. (Maybe their therapist. Definitely not yours.) This weekend, be dramatic. Be indulgent. Be soft. Be ridiculous. Be yours. Because if anyone deserves main character treatment—it’s the person reading this while trying not to cry-laugh at their own emotional whiplash. You. Yes, you.