During my active addiction, self-care felt almost impossible. My days were consumed by survival—by getting through the next hour, the next craving, the next emotional crash. Basic needs like showering, brushing my teeth, or changing my clothes slowly fell away. I would go weeks without showering or brushing my teeth. At the time, I told myself it didn’t matter, that I would deal with it later. But the truth is, neglecting my body was both a symptom of my addiction and something that fed it.
The lack of self-care was devastating to my mental health. Every time I avoided a mirror or skipped another day of cleaning myself, the shame grew heavier. I felt trapped in a cycle: the worse I felt mentally, the harder it was to care for myself—and the more I neglected myself, the deeper my depression and self-loathing became. Not cleaning my body or caring for my hygiene made me feel unworthy of care at all. That shame isolated me, convincing me I was beyond help or too broken to fix.
One of the most lasting consequences of that period has been the damage to my dental health. Neglecting my teeth didn’t feel urgent back then, but it affects my life now in very real ways—physically, financially, and emotionally. It’s a painful reminder of how addiction doesn’t just harm you in the moment; it leaves marks that can take years to heal. There is grief in realizing that some damage could have been prevented, and learning to forgive myself for that has been part of recovery too.
Getting sober changed my relationship with my body and my health. Sobriety didn’t magically make self-care easy, but it made it possible. Slowly, I began to prioritize myself in ways I never had before. Showering, brushing my teeth, eating regularly—these acts became more than habits; they became proof that I deserved care. Building a self-care routine helped ground me, giving structure and stability where chaos once lived.
With that came a new sense of self-love, and my self-confidence grew alongside it. Taking care of myself sent a powerful message: I matter. Each small act of care rebuilt trust between my mind and body. I started to see myself as someone worth investing in, worth protecting. That shift has been life-changing.
I also understand now how deeply depression affects the ability to do even the most basic tasks. When you’re depressed, showering or brushing your teeth can feel overwhelming, not because you don’t care, but because your mind is exhausted. Recognizing this has given me compassion—for my past self and for others who struggle. These difficulties are not a moral failure; they are a sign that someone is hurting.
My hope is that anyone struggling with self-care, whether due to addiction, depression, or both, knows they are not alone—and that change doesn’t have to be drastic. Sometimes, it starts with one small step: brushing your teeth once, rinsing your face, changing your clothes. Small changes matter. They add up. They can be the beginning of healing.
Recovery taught me that self-care isn’t vanity or weakness—it’s self-respect. And everyone deserves that, no matter how far they think they’ve fallen.
