The Emotional Aftercare You Give Yourself (Without Even Realising It)
I wanted to go in a slightly different direction with today's blog and look at how we treat ourselves after things get a bit overwhelming. I talk plenty about the stress and the chaos while we’re right in the thick of it, but then what? What about that emotional hangover?
If you’re still here (gold star for stamina), you might enjoy these two titles
Walking With Anxiety
Just the other day, I had one of those moments myself. The thing was nothing terrible had particularly happened, but my nervous system clearly didn’t get the memo, and everything just felt very loud, very busy, and very much.
It was once the dust settled, I caught myself doing all these tiny, automatic things to bring myself back down to earth. It made me realise how many of us beat ourselves up for feeling "weird" or sluggish after the pressure drops, without realising that our bodies are just trying to get us back on track.
Because when you look at it closely, there are actually two very different parts to this.
There is the wobble itself—that lovely moment your brain suddenly decides to audition for a big-budget disaster movie.
And then, there’s the bit afterwards.
It’s that quiet, slightly fragile, "right… what now?" phase. You’re technically functioning. You can answer questions and walk upstairs. But emotionally? You feel like an old computer that’s just been unplugged and shoved back into the wall. You're rebooting, and the little spinning wheel is taking its sweet time.
It’s not found in sudden dramatic, life-altering breakthroughs. It’s in the tiny, ordinary, incredibly human things we do to settle our nervous systems without even realising we're doing it. And honestly? Those tiny things deserve a medal.
The Glamour-Free Reality of a Reset
Now as wonderful as it would be, this kind of reset is rarely a luxury spa day. Well, unless your version of a spa day involves sitting on the edge of your unmade bed, staring blankly into the middle distance, while holding a mug of tea that is rapidly going cold.
It’s the instinctive stuff. It’s making a brew because it feels like your soul needs hydration more than your actual body. It’s sitting in your parked car for an extra four minutes because the thought of "transitioning between environments" feels like a logistical nightmare. (I know, I even impressed myself with that one ☺️). It’s aggressively tidying one single corner of the kitchen counter because, just for a few minutes, the chaos is officially cancelled.
These aren't just weird little quirks. They are our very own internal reset button, cleverly disguised as everyday behaviour.
That is exactly where emotional aftercare lives. (Stick with me, I know it sounds a bit fancy, but it’s actually very basic) and frankly, some of it is hilariously specific. Maybe you fold blankets with the intensity of someone auditioning for a home re-organisation show. Maybe you put the kettle on as if tea is a legally required medical intervention. Or maybe you talk to your dog in a voice that implies they are a highly qualified, top-tier trauma therapist. (They’re a very good listener, after all).
These little rituals aren’t about "fixing" your life in five minutes. They’re just about giving yourself a soft landing instead of face-planting into the rest of a rough day.
Running on Fumes
If you twist your ankle, you rest it. If you burn your hand on the oven rack, you run it under cold water. (Believe me I do this more times than I care to remember 🫣). I know you get it, that's physical recovery and is simply accepted as being the right thing to do.
But when our emotions take an absolute pasting? We usually go, "Anyway, back to those emails!" or "Right, crack on, no point dwelling."
Meanwhile, your nervous system is trapped in the corner whispering, "Hello….. could we possibly... absolutely not?"
The truth is, your brain doesn’t just snap back to normal the second the pressure drops. You can’t just flip a switch and be firing on all cylinders again. Pretending you’re completely fine when you’re actually running on fumes doesn't work, and honestly, trying to force yourself to feel 100% usually just makes you feel worse.
Giving yourself a bit of space to settle isn’t being lazy. It’s just giving yourself a chance to catch your breath. And the fascinating thing is, your body usually takes over and starts doing this for you anyway. You just have to notice it.
Think about the invisible things you catch yourself doing when you're feeling a bit fragile. Like choosing the exact same comfort food you always eat because you just want something familiar. Or leaving your phone on silent and dodging WhatsApp for an hour because your brain is still doing frantic jazz hands. You might suddenly realise you've been holding your breath and finally let out a big sigh, or find yourself moving a bit slower, like you're in a calming TV advert for fabric softener.
This is your very own, home-made first-aid kit. No plasters required.
No Gold Stars Required.
Looking after yourself doesn’t need to be pretty, aesthetic, or Instagram-approved. It doesn’t need a hashtag, and it certainly doesn't require a Himalayan salt lamp or a 30-minute journaling prompt.
It just needs to work for you.
If your version of looking after yourself is hiding under a duvet with your phone on silent, watching a comforting repeat of a sitcom you’ve seen fifty times, cleaning out the fridge, eating buttered toast, or having a proper, ugly cry... it counts. It is entirely valid.
There is no gold star for doing recovery in a "proper" way. There’s only what works for you in that moment.
And honestly, the more you allow yourself those quiet, messy moments to reset, the easier it gets. You stop fighting the wobble, and you start trusting that you’ll always find your way back down to earth. It’s not about being tough or "soldiering on"—no one needs that bootcamp energy when they’re already feeling fragile. It’s just about being kind to yourself.
You deserve the same gentleness you’d offer a friend who’s had a bit of a shock or a rough day. It isn’t glamorous, and it won't make it onto some fancy vision board. It’s just the quiet, beautiful way you look at yourself and say:
"I’m here. I’ve got you."
Writing this has brought back memories of our two cats from years back. It was always our cheeky boy who had this incredible superpower: it didn’t matter if it was a completely grey, miserable, overcast day—if there was a single, solitary square inch of weak afternoon sunshine filtering through the window, he would find it. And he would promptly curl up and go to sleep in it.
He didn’t think twice about whether he'd earned it, or if he had better things to be doing. He just felt the warmth, curled up right in the middle of it, and completely relaxed.
I think we can learn a lot from him. Next time you have a wobble, you don't need to force yourself back out into the grey right away. Just track down your own tiny patch of sunshine—even if it’s just a hot brew, a quiet car, or five minutes of staring at the wall—and let yourself sit in it.
Walking With Anxiety
The Middle of the Muddle
Thanks for reading and virtual hugs to you all.
