On a random weeknight, with homework half-finished and emails still waiting in the background, we lit a small fire in the backyard and made s’mores.
Not as a reward for surviving a long week.
Not because it was a holiday.
Simply because self-care doesn’t have to wait for a perfect moment. We do this often.
You see, all week long I hear my clients share stories of extreme stress, sadness and anxiety, things that can be and feel dehabilitating. I often ask them what they do for self care and their reply is usually something like “I don’t have time for self care.”
It turns out that one of the most powerful forms of self-care is letting something small and joyful interrupt the ordinary.
For us, there’s little more powerful than creating the slow down of camping vibes at home, watching the fire snap, crackle and pop, feeling the warmth on our skin…everyone seems to hush and stare at the fire contemplating.
I’ve learned that “self-care” often gets framed as another thing to manage. Another appointment. Another routine. Another way to be better at being human.
But real restoration isn’t always structured. Sometimes it’s playful. Sometimes it’s a little messy. Sometimes it smells faintly like toasted sugar and chocolate.
This self care s’mores sesh, we decided it would be fun to experiment with something far outside the graham cracker box.
Enter the stroopwaffle.
The hot and toasty marshmallow warms it just long enough and the layers soften. We opted for Rip Van Wafel chocolate brownie strips and OMG…t’s chewy, warm, slightly crisp at the edges—and structurally far superior when than balancing molten marshmallow with one hand and broken graham in the other.
Stroopwaffles, it turns out, make the best s’mores.
We paired them with soft, fluffy Dandies marshmallows, mostly because healthy is still important to me, even when eating gooey melted sugar. The chocolate brownie waffles added depth—rich, almost cake-like—while the marshmallows toasted into golden, stretchy perfection. It wasn’t just dessert. It was discovery.
And that’s what made the night matter.
We weren’t following a recipe. Self care doesn’t have to. And it doesn’t have to be a $500 spa day to count.
What surprised me most was how quickly the mood shifted. A heavy, tired weekday softened into something lighter. The kind of light that comes from doing something unnecessary—but deeply good for you. The kind that reminds you that joy doesn’t have to be efficient to be valuable.
There is something quietly healing about experimenting with small pleasures. About giving yourself permission to try, adjust, laugh, and try again. It’s a rehearsal for bigger things: new ideas, new paths, new ways of showing up in your own life.
Now, we’ve decided we won’t stop at one version. We’ll be experimenting with them all—different waffles, different chocolates, different marshmallows, different combinations we haven’t even thought of yet.
Because self-care isn’t just about rest.
It’s about play.
It’s about creativity.
It’s about letting a Tuesday night feel like it matters.
And sometimes, the most honest form of self-care is standing in your backyard, holding a slightly crooked stroopwaffle s’more, realizing that you’re allowed to make your life sweeter—one small experiment at a time.