There’s this old canoe that leans against the back of my parents’ shed in Idaho—a relic of my teenage summers slicing across Lake Coeur d’Alene. I swear that canoe has seen more action than my early dating life, but it taught me something no boyfriend ever could: the value of rhythm. You see, in rowing, you can’t thrash around wildly and expect to stay afloat or, you know, headed in a straight line. It’s all about momentum. Consistency. That sweet satisfaction when your strokes align perfectly with the pull of the water.
It wasn’t until a few years ago, though, that I realized how much my love life could benefit from a little bit of, well, canoeing wisdom. No, I didn’t paddle my way to romance (although, fun fact: you do get some great first-date stories from being stranded upriver). Instead, I made one small yet life-altering change: I quit treating “self-care” like a buzzword and started treating it like a habit. And honestly? It saved me—both as a partner and as myself.
Self-Care: More Than Bubble Baths and Sheet Masks
Around the time I stumbled upon this life epiphany, I was fresh from a breakup. You know the type: mutual but still bruising, like slipping on black ice. For weeks, I floated in a conversation loop with my well-meaning friends who advised me to “focus on myself.” This was typically followed by an invitation to spa night or a glowing recommendation for lavender-scented anything.
But none of this was sticking. Sure, baths are soothing, but I didn’t feel better schlepping around in eucalyptus body mist. I was still second-guessing every decision—Did I text too much? Not enough? Should I have fought for that relationship harder?—and replaying arguments like an old Fiona Apple album, raw and unflinching. What I needed wasn’t indulgence; I needed restoration. And that brings me to my first big revelation.
Self-care doesn’t just mean pampering yourself. It means parenting yourself.
It’s not what I wanted to hear at the time, but it’s the truth. Sometimes self-care is making yourself dinner even when you’re too sad to chew anything. It’s forcing yourself to put on shoes and step outside, even if the most interesting thing you see is a squirrel sprinting off with an acorn. It’s sitting down with the uncomfortable parts for long enough that they stop being so… loud.
And to do that? I needed to find routine. More than that, I needed to build it.
Cementing the Habit: One Morning at a Time
Confession: I'm not a morning person. Never have been, never will be. My ideal day starts around 10 a.m. with a mug of coffee so strong it could theoretically dissolve concrete. Unfortunately, dragging your feet through life isn’t super conducive to, well, living. So I started simple: I laced up my sneakers every morning and walked through the fields near my house.
At first, I hated it. February in northern Idaho isn’t exactly welcoming. On my first walk, I was pelted by sideways drizzle and nearly slipped on a rotting patch of leaves. The second morning? Same drizzle, slightly frostier vibe. But then, one misty gray week morphed into another, and something surprising happened. My walks stopped feeling like a chore and started feeling like an anchor. I wasn’t trying to jog five miles or meditate while herds of deer frolicked by; I was just moving forward. Literally.
That half-hour each day gifted me exactly what I’d been searching for: permission to slow down. Clarity found me, not in lightning bolts but in soft, steady nudges. The more I walked, the clearer it became—caretaking isn’t a luxury, but a need. And if I treated myself like someone worth nurturing, then maybe I could carry that energy into my relationships too.
How a Walk A Day Saved My “Love Game”
So, you might be wondering: What does trudging through muddy trails have to do with dating? Oh, everything. Everything. Reestablishing a routine forced me to get real about the baggage I was bringing into my past relationships—and how I could avoid overpacking in the future. Walks gave me uninterrupted time to think. And boy, did I think.
Thought #1: I can’t pour from an empty cup.
Classic advice, right? But in my case, it meant realizing that half of my dating frustrations were rooted in tying my self-worth to someone else’s validation. Making time for myself countered that. By physically stepping away from my usual distractions—emails, texts, and the dangerous vortex of Instagram stalking—it created space to identify what I actually needed: respect, kindness, and consistency.
Thought #2: People are thermostats, not thermometers.
Here’s what I mean by that: A thermometer reacts to its environment, rising or falling based on the surrounding temperature. A thermostat? It sets the tone. My drizzly treks became their own kind of thermostat, helping me stay grounded even when my dating life felt like a tug-of-war between hope and chaos. Suddenly, a bad date was just a bump in the road, not an existential crisis.
Thought #3: Walks are the ultimate mirror.
Want to know what kind of person you’re becoming? Spend an hour walking yourself through an awkward conversation with your mom or replaying that thing your ex said two years ago. Walking forces confrontation—not in a scary, intervention-style way, but in a “let’s get honest” way. Translation? I learned to wade into heavier topics and share my feelings without immediately retreating into a shell of deflection. (Trust me: vulnerability looks good on everyone.)
Simple Habits, Real Payoffs
If you take one thing from this article, let it be this: You don’t have to Van Gogh your life or move to Bali to make meaningful change. Sometimes it’s about one small, deliberate adjustment repeated until it becomes second nature. Whether it’s a slow walk, scribbling in a journal, or making a playlist of songs that inspire you, rituals have a way of quietly rewiring how you see the world—and yourself.
That’s the real magic of habit-building: It’s a gift you give your future self. For me, it translated to becoming a better communicator, setting boundaries that felt affirming instead of punishing, and trusting myself to navigate this unpredictable, beautiful mess called dating.
Conclusion: Row Your Own Canoe
Here’s the thing about rhythm: once you find yours, it feels unstoppable. Today, I’m still walking every morning—sometimes in sunshine, sometimes in rain. The scenic Idaho landscapes are a bonus, but the real journey? It’s inward. My one deliberate habit snowballed into a lifestyle of showing up for myself, whether or not anyone else is around to notice.
So if you’re in a rut, a heartbreak, or a why-is-dating-so-zero-stars-right-now moment, let me suggest this: Start small. Create a habit that brings you back to yourself. You don’t need a partner to save you; you need—wait for it—to save your own damn self. With a little consistency, you’d be amazed at the connections that bloom naturally, both with others and with the undeniable magic of, well, you.
Paddle on.
