Please don’t make the same mistake that I did. I’m writing this to you as one human to another.

For a long time, I believed self-care and self-love were selfish. How dare you think of yourself when others need help? How dare you care for yourself? How dare you even think about it? This is how I grew up. The traditions I grew up in taught me to serve, and I’m grateful for that. Truly. But they also taught me to serve until depletion. To serve endlessly. To disappear. I felt guilty my entire life for taking care of myself. I always thought of others first. Always.

When my mother was battling cancer in the hospital, I never left her side. Not once. I was living and working in London, but none of that mattered. She was paralysed. She needed care. And I was there—every moment, every detail, head to toe. I didn’t let anyone touch her. Nurses, doctors—everyone needed permission from me. That was my loyalty. That was my love. And I would do it again. But I never once asked myself: did I eat, did I drink water, do I need rest, do I need care?

I don’t even remember what I wore. I ate random things, if I ate at all. I wasn’t thinking about myself for a second—because how dare you, when your mother is dying? And then there were the other people. Other cancer patients. Dying alone. No family. No one is sitting next to them.

I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t bear watching human beings die alone. So after caring for my mother, I cared for them too. The whole hospital corridor. I took it all on. All the pain. All the grief. All the stories I didn’t even know. What I didn’t realise was that my sister was doing the same. And we were dying too. I got multiple sclerosis. My sister got cancer. We were so busy carrying everyone else that we didn’t see our own bodies breaking down.

And here’s the irony of the universe: today, I run a holistic skincare company. I teach self-care. I teach wholeness. I teach nourishment. Because I know exactly what happens when you don’t. At that time, I believed depletion was love. Sacrifice was love. Giving everything—until nothing was left—was love. I was inspired by people who burned themselves alive in protest. I truly believed that disappearing for a cause was the highest form of devotion.

But that is not unconditional love. Unconditional love includes you. If you are not in the equation, it is not love.

If I were who I am today, back then, I would have learned about death. About change. About the nature of reality. Death is natural. Change is inevitable. People will leave. Things will end. I was terrified of death, of loss, of change—and instead of facing that fear, I destroyed myself trying to stop it. And the truth is this: if I had taken care of myself, I would have taken care of my mother a thousand times better.

A depleted human cannot think clearly. A dysregulated nervous system cannot make wise choices. I thought I was doing my best—but my body and brain were exhausted. That wasn’t love. That was conditioning. That was ancestral trauma dressed up as virtue. The same with the other patients. I didn’t know their lives. I didn’t know their choices, their relationships, their paths. Their emotions were theirs. Their nervous systems were theirs. I was trying to carry an entire hospital’s worth of pain inside my own body. That is not what we are here to do.

You are not here to absorb everyone’s pain, turn it into peace, and hand it back—while nobody takes care of you. Who is going to take care of you if you don’t? I made so many choices in my life just to stop others from feeling pain. And every one of those choices hurt me. In the end, I was alone with my illness, my exhaustion, my consequences. This isn’t about blaming anyone. It’s about waking up.

Sacrifice is not love. Sacrifice does not make you a good human being. I am living proof of that. If someone expects you to endlessly give, to shrink, to disappear—that person is unconscious. Not evil. Not your enemy. Just unconscious. You can have compassion and still have boundaries. Nobody—absolutely nobody—has the right to ask you to sacrifice yourself.

Remove the guilt around self-care. It’s a fake story. Feed yourself first. Feed your skin first. If you buy care for everyone else, did you buy it for yourself? Do you use it? Do you allow yourself the same nourishment? This is not selfishness. This is biology. If you are not full—if your nervous system is not safe, if your body is depleted—you cannot help anyone. You think you are helping, but you are not. Your help will be fragmented, painful, and incomplete.

Care for yourself first. Then give from an overflowing heart. This is how peace is created in the world. And here’s the deepest truth I learned: if you don’t love yourself fully, you don’t know what love is. Love is not outside of you. Other people don’t give you love—they remind you of it. They pressed a button that was already there.

I healed my Multiple Sclerosis by finding love within myself. Creating it inside. Becoming it. Living from it. And once you do that, you don’t need to imprison anyone. You don’t need to control. You don’t fear loss. You let people be free. You love them enough to let them go. That is real love. That is real self-care.

If you’re looking for a New Year’s resolution, I have one for you: hardcore self-care. Without guilt. Without apology. Because when you love yourself deeply, you don’t create harm. You don’t create wars. You don’t create prisons. You create peace—starting inside your own body. Please don’t make the same mistake that I did. I paid for not knowing this with my body, my health, my life.

Gentle Self-Care Rituals (Start Small, Start With You)
Nourish your skin every day as an act of presence. Eat before you serve others. Rest without explaining. Choose one daily ritual that is only for you. Use products you love on yourself first.

You deserve to be here. Whole. Alive. Loved by you.

So what does hardcore self-care actually look like for me now? First, let me be very clear: I am not someone who stopped caring. I don’t hate people. My life and my business are about serving humanity. Purpose matters.

In the first part of my day, I give everything I have to this company. I pour myself into creating beautiful, loving, safe, nourishing, holistic skincare. I give my mind, my creativity, my discipline, my heart. I show up fully to serve the world in the best way I know how—by helping people feel safe in their skin, connected to themselves, and more in love with who they are. That is how I give. That is my service.

And then—this is important—the second part of my day is mine. I signed up for one of those gyms with spas. When my work is done, I stop. I go swimming. Half an hour in the water. Then I enter the spa. I go into the steam room for my skin. Then into the cold room—to regulate my nervous system, to remind my body that it is strong, resilient, and capable of meeting challenges. This is preparation. This is not indulgence.

Then I shower. While my body is still wet, I massage jojoba oil all over face and body—because this is when the skin knows how to receive and regulate sebum. I gently pat dry, never rush. I spray rose mist all over myself, head to toe. In winter, I nourish my body with Forest Balm; in summer, Sun Elixir Body—and sometimes Sun Elixir Body even in winter, because it’s rich in antioxidants that support the skin’s natural longevity. We’re not against ageing. We’re for vitality.

For my face, I apply the flow set, cleanse with Jojoba, then Rose mist and Face Elixir. Winter Solstice in the colder months, Sun Elixir when my skin wants light. Lip mask. Deodorant balm. Touching my skin with intention, not judgment. I spend hours in this space every weekday.

Then I go home. I eat beautiful, nourishing food. No TV. No noise. I sit in silence. I meditate. I read. I spend time with my cat. Sometimes I do absolutely nothing—and that is sacred. My life is quieter now. Fewer people. Fewer interactions. Only genuine ones. This isn’t rejection. This is discernment. Less noise means more truth.

And because I live this way now—because I am full—I am incredible during the day. I can give. I can listen. I can help. I can hold space. I can actually be useful. People come to me. They want to talk. They want to sit with me. They feel safe. They feel nourished. Not because I am special—but because I am not depleted anymore. Before, my advice came from exhaustion. From guilt. From survival. It didn’t help anyone. Now, I give from overflow.

This is why I don’t feel guilty about self-care anymore. And this is why I want to inspire you. If you’re looking for a New Year’s resolution, choose hardcore, unapologetic self-care. Not to escape life. But to finally be able to meet it—fully, lovingly, and whole. Because when you are full, love and caring for others, peace becomes effortless.

Please don’t make the same mistake that I did. You deserve to be here.

With all my love,
Ezgi