Crying in the car counts as self-care, right?

I’ve been known (by myself) to cope with a bad week by blasting Justin Bieber’s Journals and crying in my car like I’m the main character of a very dramatic indie film that got bad reviews but still has a cult following.

And honestly? 10/10 recommend.

Some people vent to their friends. Some people go for a run. Me? I put on a hoodie, throw on sunglasses (even if it’s cloudy), and sip my iced coffee like it’s a prescription. That’s my emotional support beverage, your honour. The Vida barista doesn’t know she’s part of my healing journey, but she is.

Humour has always been my favourite coping tool. If I can laugh about it, even a little, it doesn’t feel quite as heavy. I’ll lay on the couch and watch an Adam Sandler movie (highly recommend), or turn a full-on meltdown into a funny story I tell my podcast listeners. It’s not about ignoring how I feel, it’s about softening the edges. Giving myself a way to breathe through the mess. Sometimes you’ve got to make the mental breakdown artsy.

Here are a few very real, very unhinged ways I romanticize a bad week:

• Wearing an oversized hoodie, cycle shorts and pairing it with my reading glasses like I’m in hiding from the paparazzi (even though I’m just avoiding small talk at the grocery store).
• Driving down to the beach with my digital camera and Kelsea Ballerini on repeat like I’m filming a breakup montage, except the only person I’m breaking up with is burnout.
• Sitting in my car, seat fully reclined, watching the waves and pretending the ocean is giving me a TED Talk about how everything is going to be okay.
• Ordering pizza for one, pouring a glass of red wine and telling myself I’m on a solo date.
• Crying dramatically in the shower with Charli XCX playing. Peak cinema.

The truth is: life gets weird. Days get hard. But finding little ways to comfort myself, to laugh, to feel cozy, to make it all feel a little softer? That’s become one of the kindest things I do for me.

So if your week’s been trash and you just feel over it, here’s your reminder: your healing can be messy, funny, dramatic, and full of iced coffee. That doesn’t make it any less valid. You’re still growing. Still trying. Still doing your best.

And if you need me, I’ll be parked by the beach, blasting sad songs and pretending the sunset is clapping for me.