5 Things I Had To Unlearn About Wellness

We’re living in the golden age of wellness—and we’re exhausted.

Never before has the pursuit of health, balance, and inner peace been so fully commodified. Wellness, once a quiet act of self-tending, has become a lifestyle empire: a trillion-dollar industry of retreats, “adaptogens,” cold plunges, siestas, romanticized Salcedo walks, and curated morning routines that resemble full-time jobs. The irony is obvious, many of us are working ourselves to the bone in the name of self-care. We’re burning out trying to become “well.”

I know, because I bought in. I wore the expensive leggings. I booked the wellness club subscriptions. I tried to meditate my way out of inevitable growing pains while wondering if I was meditating “right.” I told myself I just wasn’t trying hard enough, when in reality, the version of wellness I was chasing wasn’t built to make me feel better. It was built to sell me something.

These are five beliefs I had to unlearn in order to actually feel well without performing it.

1. That I need to earn rest

For years, I believed rest was a prize you won after burning out. I didn’t feel entitled to a nap unless I had crossed every item off my to-do list. Rest was something I had to justify, not something I could claim simply because I was human and tired. But rest, I’ve since learned, is not a finish line. It’s not indulgent or lazy, it’s foundational. Waiting until I’d reached the brink made it less effective and more performative, like I was collapsing for show rather than truly recovering. Justine Joseph, a licensed sports psychologist and full-time therapist, echoes these sentiments, reminding us to not be afraid of rest. “I don’t know why people are so afraid [of rest],” she says. “I mean, I know why, but people are really afraid of rest and rest should be part of [a wellness practice]. So there really needs to be rest.” 

2. That wellness needs to look good enough for Pinterest all the time

There was a time when I joined wellness clubs with steep monthly fees and curated Instagram pages. I bought the expensive activewear, signed up for the workout classes, and tried to assemble meals that looked like they belonged in a cookbook shoot. I felt guilty when I didn’t “look cute” while exercising, or when what I ate looked more beige than green. In chasing the image of wellness, I overlooked its essence. Wellness became another form of comparison, another way to fall short. It took time (and a few skipped class subscriptions) for me to realize that real wellness is often unphotogenic. It’s sweatpants, silence, and whatever food you can make without resenting yourself. I was trying to meet a visual benchmark that had nothing to do with how I actually felt. Over time, I realized that wellness isn’t a brand to maintain. It’s not curated, it’s lived.

3. That wellness is a solo pursuit

The wellness industry promotes a kind of rugged individualism: self-care routines, self-healing journeys, self-optimization plans. But I’ve come to see that I don’t always have the answers—or the energy—to care for myself in a vacuum. True wellness, I’m learning, is deeply collective. It’s friends who notice your silences. It’s a shared meal that doesn’t check any dietary boxes, but fills you anyway. It’s being allowed to be undone in the presence of others. According to Fab Calipara, RPsy, founder of Fully Psych, one of the most common ways Filipinos cope with problems is “by talking to people they trust.” Wellness is not about building a fortress of perfection around yourself; it’s about letting people in. 

4. That wellness has to be expensive

It’s hard to ignore the pricing. Wellness, as it’s marketed, can feel like something sold only to those who can afford a certain kind of lifestyle. Studio memberships. Organic groceries. Infrared saunas. I once thought I had to buy my way into balance. But I’ve since learned that wellness doesn’t live in the supplements aisle. Some of the most restorative practices—walking, stretching, breathing deeply, being still—cost nothing. The problem isn’t that wellness tools exist; it’s that the industry too often packages healing as a product, not a practice.

5. That there’s a final version of me I’m supposed to reach

There’s a subtle narrative in the wellness world that if I just keep optimizing, I’ll eventually become my “best self.” As if that self is static, glowing, green-juiced, and immune to pain. But I’ve been many versions of myself, and I’ll continue to be many more. And not all of them are smiling. One of the most freeing lessons I’ve learned is that so-called “wellness girls” are allowed to be sad. And angry. And frustrated. And heartbroken. Feeling the full range of human emotion is wellness. Suppressing those feelings in the name of appearing balanced or enlightened is not. Wellness isn’t about curating constant peace—it’s about making room for all of you, even the parts that aren’t pleasant. Especially the parts that aren’t pleasant. The truth is, I no longer want to be someone else’s idea of “well.” I want to feel like me, even when that means I’m raw, restless, or nowhere near optimized.

The glossy, Pinterest-worthy version of wellness is seductive, but hollow. It promises transformation while quietly punishing you for being too human. Real wellness, the kind that doesn’t always look good in a grid, is chaotic, communal, cheap, and deeply personal. It’s not something you arrive at. It’s something you return to, again and again, when the noise quiets and you can finally hear what your body has been trying to say. Joseph says it best: “Don’t compromise life and enjoyment… rather focus on finding something consistent and sustainable.”

If that sounds less like a product and more like a practice, that’s because it is. And if it doesn’t feel revolutionary yet, just wait until you stop trying to earn it.