Lately I’ve been drawn to events and articles and books about rituals. Perhaps it’s the capitalist overtaking of aesthetic TikToks — you know, the ones with influencers and their picture-perfect morning routines? Maybes it’s just the word ritual. There’s something sacred and warm about it. 

/ˈrɪt.u.əl/ a way of doing something in which the same actions are done in the same way every time; a fixed set of actions and words, especially as part of a religious ceremony

However, I can also associate rituals with routines, and routines with consistency, consistency with discipline. The thought of having a daily or weekly practice sounds so lovely but the actuality of repetition ultimately seems either uninteresting or implausible to me. 

Learning to create my own rituals

I recently signed up for a free event that was supposed to help me create rituals in work and life. It was at eight in the morning, so I obviously didn’t attend live. I’d been meaning to watch the replay all weekend before the access expired but I just didn’t feel like sitting down and actually doing the activities. 

If I don’t watch this recording, how the hell am I supposed to know how to create my own rituals?!

I was thinking about this from the bath, which I drew so I would actually read my folder full of unread newsletters.

You see, I have a folder in Gmail where all my newsletters go. It helps keep my inbox clean and distraction-free throughout the week. I thought one ritual I could start was catching up on my unread newsletters on Sundays — sort of like a digital newspaper.

Except adding the expectation of reading through my newsletter folder every week still felt like another chore, an obligation. 

That was, until I paired it with a bath. 

Photo by insung yoon on Unsplash

The magic in inconsistency

I love a good warm soak, surrounded by candles and a chill playlist. I began my adult bathtime ritual right before moving from Charlotte, NC back to my home state of Florida in 2021. 

After almost four years in that Charlotte apartment, I’d never even considered taking a bath. I was a huge bath kid growing up, often spending hours drawing on the walls with shaving cream or pretending my Polly Pockets were at the beach. I’d sit in there until the water ran cold and my little toes looked like raisins. 

I’m grateful to whatever it was that called my body back to the tub decades later. Perhaps it was the fact that I was home more often due to the pandemic. And that I was craving some kind of escape from the simultaneous experiences of chaos and monotony. 

Since then, my bathtime ritual has become a sacred practice. There are weeks where I take a bath every day. Other times, I enjoy a good hour+ soak on a Sunday evening. Sometimes I go weeks without one. It just depends. 

Some of my most inspired ideas have come from the tub. 

When I’m stressed, I take to the bath. 

When I’m sad, I take to the bath. 

When I’m in need of some R&R, I take to the bath. 

When I’m needing some reflection time, I take to the bath. 

When I’m craving some warmth or comfort, I take to the bath.

My tub is here for me whenever I need it, like a quiet roommate who runs up the electricity bill if I’m having a particularly challenging month. 

In just a few weeks, I’ll be moving back to Charlotte. Unfortunately, my bathroom won’t have a tub. As I was mourning the loss of my bathtime ritual (while sitting in the bath, of course), I was reminded of why I love bathtime so much. 

One, I am a water baby through and through. Astrologically so, and habitually (I was a competitive swimmer for six years and have always loved the ocean). 

But beyond actually being in the bath, the ritual of taking a bath is what has been so comforting to me.

Thoughtfully choosing which salts or bath bombs to put in it. 

Which candles to light. 

Which book to read or playlist to listen to. 

What to think about or mull over. 

What temperature – scolding hot or comfortingly warm? 

The way time stops because I have nowhere else to be but here. 

The shock of cold that rushes through my body when I go to dry off. 

The eventual warm embrace of my fluffy pink robe. 

Regardless of how often I partake in this ritual, the consistency is in the magic of the practice, not the other way around. 

In the coming year, I’m making it a point to unsubscribe from publications that don’t inspire or challenge me. One way of measuring that is by noticing whether or not the email feels bath-worthy. (I’ve already begun a bathtub curation in the weeks leading up to tub-lessness.) 

I’m looking forward to playing around with a new ritual once I move, one that can be as comforting as bathtime. Perhaps a heated blanket and tea situation on the couch paired with a special playlist with bath-time vibes. Maybe I should get a miniature waterfall for my bedroom? 

This coming year, I’m feeling called to lean into ritual over resolutions. To prioritize presence over consistency. To explore the depths of pleasure instead of focusing on perfection. To remind myself that I don’t need to attend an event to know how to build a ritual — I already have all the tools I need. 

I’m currently writing this post from the bath. The water has run cold and my toes look like raisins. Before the water begins to drain, I want to wish everyone reading this an opportunity to soak in the goodness of your own magic ritual — whenever and for however long it happens. 

May it be so.

Peace, love and Dr. Teal’s,

Andrea