One quiet Sunday, I returned to my masseuse to fetch myself some care and therapy. It was not that my body ached but it was looking for some soothing. This was accompanied by the usual thread of thoughts and my to-do lists. I lay there, face down, surrendering to the quiet. The masseuse is Lorna. She began her gentle work. Each stroke seemed to unspool tension I did not know I carried.
As she moved from shoulder to shoulder, she whispered stories—soft, almost secrets. She wasn’t trying to be profound, just passing the time, but something in the simplicity of her storytelling struck me. She was talking loosely, telling me about ordinary things, dailies. From her trivial life anecdotes, her stories shifted to self-care tips. “Massage your face upward,” she said, “so it doesn’t sag.” A smile in her voice, “Put lotion or mineral oil before you sleep. Sleep with a little perfume. So you can smell yourself... wake up knowing you cared for yourself even when you think no one does.”
I don’t often listen to Lorna. But this time, I did. She knew what she was talking about. I especially listened to the part when she narrated how she herself would smother lotion on her body before she sleeps. Her husband would complain and say, “Why are you putting on perfume? Are you meeting someone in your dreams?” She would reply haughtily, '“Don’t mind me! Mind your own business.” There was such joyful resolve as she tells me her story.
That night, I reached for the bottle of lotion on my dresser—the one I always meant to use but never did. I smoothed it over my skin like an offering. Not for someone else. For me. I dabbed on the perfume I usually saved for “occasions.” Then, I slipped into bed and let the scent of self-care wrap around me.
As a stepmother, so much of my life revolves around giving. Often, I am the extra hands, the bonus love, the one who tries not to ask too much. I often feel I must earn my space in the children’s lives. Almost no one reminds me to be tender with myself.
Today, Lorna did.
For a time, wine was my happiness. Now, age has dictated a subtle halt to this happiness.



“Not for someone else. For me.” Love this so much! I also do this 😂✨✨