Self-c
are September is BACK, people, and I am so ready for it. Honestly, I think I burned through every ounce of my “fun reserves” this summer. Too many adventures, too much go-go-go. And about two weeks into my Scotland trip with three small kids, my mental health just… crashed and burned. Like, full nose-dive into the North Sea.
You know that airplane metaphor about oxygen masks? How you’re supposed to secure your own before helping anyone else? Because if you’re gasping for air, how on earth are you supposed to save anyone else? Well, I thought about that one a lot during my 18-hour journey from Vancouver to Edinburgh and back—juggling three kids, carry-ons, car seats, and my own unraveling sanity.
To be fair, I didn’t exactly stumble into this chaos. I booked the trip last fall, back when I was still pregnant with #3 and feeling invincible. We got an invite to a family reunion, and I was excited—like, really excited—to reconnect with my extended family. But if I’m being brutally honest? The trip was also fueled by a hefty dose of ego and determination. You see, one of the biggest debates on our pros-and-cons list for having a third kid was: can we still travel? Everyone loves to say you can’t. Too expensive, too stressful, too hard—you’re officially outnumbered. I wanted to prove them wrong. I wanted to prove myself wrong.
And technically, yes—you can travel with three kids. But wow, is it a circus. A lot of packing. A lot of laundry. A lot of snacks. A LOT of complaining. But hey, we did it. There were highs—like dancing at a Ceilidh with my extended family. And lows—like both older kids projectile vomiting simultaneously, one hour into our rental car, while my husband tried to remember which side of the road to drive on. The whole trip was a rollercoaster of soaring highs and plummeting lows.
But here’s the real takeaway: self-care isn’t a luxury for me anymore—it’s a flat-out necessity. Without it, the whole family train derails. If I don’t get one solid hour to myself every couple of days, 3:00pm rolls around and “Impatient, Swearing, Mean Mommy” takes the stage. Then it’s a slippery slope into late nights, too much whiskey (Scotland’s fault, obviously), and full-blown Negative Nancy mode.
Back home, though? One week of gym sessions, meditation, breathwork, and short solo walks—and I’m a new human. Turns out, it doesn’t take much self-care to keep me steady. Just an hour. But with zero self-care? Total transformation into my worst self.
I’ve been practicing yoga for 20 years now. And like any long-term relationship, it’s had its ebbs and flows—seasons of steady practice, and seasons when my mat gathered dust. But this summer, as a brand-new mom of three, I’ve been reminded of just how many gifts my practice has given me: patience, non-reaction, a go-with-the-flow attitude. All qualities honed on the mat, and all of them making me a better mother and a better human. My biggest takeaway from this summer? I need to make my practice a priority again. Yoga isn’t just a “nice-to-have” for me—it’s like a limb. I can survive without it, sure, but everything is easier, lighter, and better with it in my life.
I adore summer and its wild, routine-free chaos, but I know most of us struggle with healthy habits when the days are long and hot. So let’s get back to ourselves. Back to yoga. Back to discipline. Back to routine. Back to self-care.
Who’s in?
Written by Prestonne Sehn