Reader,

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I’ve been thinking a lot about how we define self-care in session, what we ask our clients to do—and how much of that definition not only holds a lot of privilege, but was shaped in times that felt more predictable, more containable, more… survivable.

But what happens when the world doesn’t feel survivable in the same way?

In a recent conversation, I found myself naming what so many of us feel: I’m trying to support clients through trauma while living in it myself. It’s a level of overwhelm that makes old self-care practices feel like they barely scratch the surface.

So I asked a new question: What does self-care look like now?

Not the version we were taught in grad school or the one you see curated for Instagram. But the kind that meets us in the collapse of right now.

So, in other words, what does decolonial self-care look like?

Here’s what I came up with:

• Self-care is remembering to breathe while holding space for others —seriously, breathing is you honour your existence.
• Self-care is slowing down between sessions to acknowledge what your body just carried —and to resist the violence of fast-paced therapy.
• Self-care is modeling that it’s okay to not have answers —while still choosing to stay present.
• Self-care is allowing grief to move through, not around, your nervous system.
• Self-care is composting the old and making room for what might grow next.

Self-care is communal. Even if we call it SELF-care, it’s understood that the community is part of the self, and the self is part of the community.

When I tend to myself, I’m also tending to the people I love, serve, and struggle alongside—and vice versa.

When I care for myself, I’m fortifying our shared resistance—and when we care for one another, we’re practicing liberation.

🌱 Reflection for you: What Does Self-Care Mean Now?​
Take a few breaths and settle into your body. Then consider:

• When I think about “self-care,” whose version comes to mind first?
• What parts of me feel unseen or untouched by the self-care practices I’ve been taught?
• Where in my week do I pause—not to perform wellness, but to feel what I’ve held?
• What’s one way I can reclaim self-care as an act of resistance, not recovery from burnout?
• How do I experience my self-care as connected to the care of my community?

Let this be a place of gentle reimagining.
Not to perfect your self-care—but to decolonize it.

🔥 Share your reflections with me, I want to know what's happening in your world!

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Here’s to more communal care and resistance 🌻

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In community,

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Silvana @ Decolonize Your Practice​

PS. You can read previous Liberatory Letters here.

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⬆️ Let's connect!