You know that Sunday night ritual where you’re soaking in a bath with seventeen different products scattered around the tub, trying to feel zen while simultaneously ignoring the fact that you just created a small mountain of plastic waste? That was me for years. I’d light some candles – probably made with questionable ingredients – slather on face masks that came in single-use packets, and tell myself this was “self-care” while my trash can overflowed with empty bottles and tubes.
The whole thing started by accident, honestly. I was at the grocery store, tired after work, grabbed what I thought was regular shampoo without really looking. Got home and realized I’d bought this weird soap bar thing instead. My first thought was definitely not “oh great, sustainable beauty!” It was more like “crap, now I have to go back to the store.” But I was broke that week – student loans don’t pause for hair care emergencies – so I figured I’d try this hippie soap thing until payday.
Here’s the plot twist nobody prepared me for: it actually worked better than my usual stuff. My hair felt cleaner, less weighed down, and I wasn’t dealing with that greasy buildup I’d been attributing to “Austin water quality” for months. Plus, I started doing the math on plastic bottles I wasn’t buying anymore. One little bar lasted almost three months, compared to the giant plastic bottles I was going through every few weeks. The environmental impact hit me all at once, like suddenly seeing those floating garbage patches in the ocean but in my own bathroom.
That’s when I fell down the rabbit hole of questioning everything else in my beauty routine. Why did I own seven different face products that all claimed to solve the same problems? Why was my deodorant wrapped in plastic, then packaged in more plastic, then shipped in a cardboard box? I mean, it’s deodorant – we’ve been keeping our armpits fresh for thousands of years without creating this much waste.
The transition wasn’t smooth, I’ll be honest. I tried some truly terrible products in the name of sustainability. There was this natural deodorant that made me smell like I’d been living in a tent for weeks. Some organic face cream that cost forty-five dollars – forty-five! – and made my skin break out worse than it did in high school. A homemade toothpaste recipe I found online that was so disgusting I switched back to regular toothpaste after two days, though I did eventually find toothpaste tablets that actually work.
But slowly, through trial and definitely some error, I started finding things that worked. Real soap – like, actual soap made from plants instead of whatever chemicals create that artificial strawberry smell. Face oil that comes in a tiny glass bottle and lasts forever because you only need three drops. Sugar scrubs I make myself using coffee grounds I would’ve thrown away anyway, mixed with coconut oil.
The DIY thing was completely unexpected for me. I’m not crafty. I can barely keep plants alive. But there’s something weirdly satisfying about making a face mask from stuff in your kitchen. Oatmeal and honey for when my skin’s being sensitive, or avocado mashed up with a little olive oil when it’s dry. My shower smells like a coffee shop when I use that coffee ground scrub, and it works better than anything I ever bought at Sephora.
Water conservation became part of this too, though not in the way I expected. I started taking shorter showers to save water, but then I read about cold therapy and thought, why not try ending showers with cold water? It sounds horrible – and okay, it is horrible at first – but the energy boost is real. Plus it forces me to be efficient instead of just standing there letting hot water run while I mentally replay awkward conversations from three years ago.
One thing I didn’t anticipate was how much mental space this whole thing would free up. You know that low-level guilt about consumption and waste? When your self-care routine isn’t contributing to environmental destruction, that mental noise just… stops. Instead of feeling guilty about the empty bottles going in my trash, I feel good about the products I’m using. It’s like meditation, but for your entire beauty routine.
The packaging thing has been huge. Those shampoo bars come wrapped in paper, if they’re wrapped at all. My face oil comes in a small glass dropper bottle that I’ve refilled three times now from a local place that does refills. Deodorant in cardboard tubes instead of plastic. Even my toothpaste comes as little tablets in a glass jar. When you multiply these small changes by every product you use regularly, the waste reduction is actually pretty significant.
Food became part of this equation too, though it took me a while to connect nutrition with environmental responsibility. I’d been learning about the environmental impact of different foods, so eating more plants started feeling like self-care that also happened to be better for the planet. Using vegetable scraps for homemade broth instead of throwing them away, turning overripe fruit into smoothies or face masks – it became like a puzzle where the goal is using absolutely everything.
I keep this “scrap bag” in my freezer now for vegetable peelings and herb stems. When it gets full, I make the most amazing vegetable stock. It feels resourceful in a way that connects me to my grandmother, who grew up during the Depression and couldn’t afford to waste anything. She would’ve rolled her eyes at the idea of buying expensive face masks when you could mash up an avocado and get the same results.
Sleep is probably the most sustainable self-care practice there is – no products required, no packaging, no water waste. Just your body doing what it evolved to do. I’ve been working on better sleep habits by keeping my phone out of the bedroom, using blackout curtains made from organic cotton, keeping the temperature cooler. The environmental benefits are basically zero direct impact, but when you’re well-rested, you make better decisions about everything else, including consumption.
Exercise as environmental self-care has been another discovery. Instead of driving to a gym full of electricity-consuming machines, I rediscovered outdoor movement. Walking, biking to work when it’s not raining, doing yoga in my tiny balcony garden. There’s something about sweating outside and breathing actual fresh air that makes me more aware of wanting to protect the natural world. Plus, parking at most gyms in Austin costs almost as much as the membership anyway.
The beauty industry wants us to believe we need different products for every season, every age, every possible skin concern. But sustainable products that work with your skin’s natural processes tend to be way more adaptable. The same plant oil that works as a cleanser can also moisturize or treat dry hair ends. A simple clay mask addresses multiple skin issues without needing five different chemical treatments. It’s like minimalism, but for your bathroom cabinet.
Money-wise, this has actually been cheaper in the long run, even though the upfront costs sometimes feel higher. A bar of good soap lasts for months. Homemade scrubs cost maybe fifty cents to make. When you’re not constantly buying new products to solve problems created by previous products, your spending naturally decreases. The money I used to blow on an ever-rotating collection of skincare miracles now goes toward fewer, higher-quality things that actually work.
One unexpected bonus has been connecting with local businesses that share these values. The woman who makes my favorite soap at the farmer’s market, this local company that creates plastic-free deodorant, the herbalist who taught me which plants are good for different skin types. These relationships have made me understand both self-care and environmental responsibility in deeper ways than any blog post or Instagram influencer ever could.
There’s also something satisfying about seasonal self-care that follows natural rhythms instead of fighting them. Summer means cooler showers and lighter oils. Winter calls for richer moisturizers and warming foods. Spring feels like detox time with gentler products. Fall brings grounding routines and preparation for colder months. This cyclical approach feels more natural than the constant, year-round sameness that most beauty routines promote.
The ripple effects have been the biggest surprise. When you start questioning the environmental impact of your wellness routine, you naturally become more conscious about other consumption patterns. It’s like a gateway to more thoughtful living. You question whether you really need that new serum, which leads to questioning whether you need those jeans you were eyeing, which leads to examining your entire relationship with buying stuff.
Looking back, switching to eco-friendly self-care wasn’t about giving up things I loved – it was discovering that what I thought I loved was often just marketing designed to make me feel insecure. Real self-care, the kind that actually nourishes you instead of just temporarily distracting you, turns out to be simpler, more affordable, and better for everyone involved. Taking care of yourself in ways that also take care of the planet isn’t just sustainable – it’s genuinely satisfying in a way that quick fixes never could be.
