Five Minutes to Reclaim Your Sanity (No, Really)
Oh yes, this hits home. That soul-deep “I don’t have time for myself” chorus is everywhere right now — and honestly, most of us could sing lead vocals! Let’s take a look!
Lately, in conversations with friends, clients, and the general chaos that is the internet, I keep hearing the same exhausted line: “There’s no me time. None.”
Not said with a playful eye-roll — said with that frayed, breathless edge that sounds like burnout tap-dancing on your last nerve.
I get it. I wrote the survival-mode manual: single parent, five kids, five part-time jobs, serious illness, and a life that regularly asked, “How are you still vertical?” I know busy. I know overwhelmed. And I also know this:
If everything and everyone always comes first, it’s because we’re allowing it.
(Please put down the rock; I say this with love… and with receipts.)
We’ll never “find” time for ourselves. We make it. We choose it. If we don’t, no one is showing up at the door with a gift basket of boundaries and a coupon for complimentary silence. Life is full of non-negotiables — kids, work, parents, pets, bills. But there’s a big difference between true essentials and the tidal wave of extras we let in: the fifth committee meeting, the third last-minute favour, the “rest” hour that mysteriously turns into doom-scrolling while the laundry watches us spin.
Let’s be honest: “no time” is often code for “I’ve given all my time away.”
Permission First. Then Practice.
Most people who say “I can’t even find five minutes” don’t mean can’t. They mean I’m not giving myself permission to stop. That’s where we begin.
I’m not sending you to Bali. (If you can go, fabulous. Pack me.) I’m talking about something small, quiet, doable — even with five kids, five jobs, and a gremlin living in your inbox.
The Candle Thing (Stick With Me)
Yes, it sounds woo-woo. And yes, it works. Not because of magic incantations, but because presence is medicine and your nervous system is begging for a teaspoon.
How to do it:
Get up 10 minutes earlier.
I know. I know. Please don’t throw your phone at me. I’ve been chronically sleep-deprived since the ‘80s and I’m still upright. You can do ten minutes.Keep the lights off.
Wrap up in a blanket. Shuffle to a quiet corner. If the dog follows, fine; invite their paws to respect the vibe.Light one candle.
No special altar, no outfit, no app. Just a flame.Breathe and look.
Watch the flicker. Let your breath slow until the flame barely trembles. Make it a game: how calm can I get?When your mind wanders (because it will), bring it back.
Not with violence. With gentleness. Again and again.Set a timer: five minutes, ten max.
No checking your phone “just in case.” The world can wait five minutes. If it can’t, that’s a different problem.
This isn’t about “clearing your mind” or becoming Enlightened Before Breakfast™. It’s about training your attention to come home. It’s about one small daily decision that says, I matter.
What Happens Next
At first, you’ll feel a little fidgety. Then a little softer. Then you’ll notice: mornings are less jagged. You catch yourself breathing deeper at random points in the day. You become fractionally more patient. You’re able to pull your thoughts back from the what-ifs and place them in the now without using a lasso.
Shocking twist: you may start to crave your candle time. Miss it if you skip it. Add minutes. (Who even are we?)
Because when you create the tiniest sacred space, your whole life shifts a few millimetres toward ease. You’re less brittle. Less reactive. You remember you’re more than a task machine with hair.
“But I Really Can’t.”
Sometimes that voice is honest — you’ve got a sick kid, a deadline, a crisis. Okay. Life happens. Most of the time, though, “can’t” is “won’t” wearing your bathrobe. The moment you admit it’s a choice, you get your power back. You can still choose “won’t” on a given day! But now you’re driving, not the chaos gremlin.
Truth bomb: Losing five minutes of sleep will not ruin your life. It might be what saves it.
A Few Micro-Yeses to Get You Started
Morning: Sit with your candle for five.
Midday: Close your eyes for three slow breaths before you answer a message.
Evening: Put your phone in another room for 15 minutes. (I know. You can do hard things.)
Anytime: Drink water like it’s a kindness, not punishment.
Tiny, consistent yeses beat grand, once-a-year escapes every time.
Boundaries Make Kindness Sustainable
Self-care isn’t spa days and platitudes; it’s boundaries and boring decisions. It’s choosing one fewer obligation than you’re capable of managing so you’re not living at a 10/10 stress level all year. It’s replying, “I don’t have capacity for that right now,” and resisting the urge to provide a TED Talk of justification.
People don’t need your perfection; they need your presence. And you can’t be present when you’re crispy.
What If Rest Is the Requirement, Not the Reward?
We were taught that worth is earned through effort. That rest is something you get after you’ve outrun yourself. Let’s flip it:
Rest is not laziness; it’s maintenance.
Stillness is not empty; it’s data collection.
Silence is not absence; it’s recalibration.
Who are you when you’re not proving anything?
Not hustling. Not people-pleasing. Not collecting gold stars from strangers on the internet. Who are you in the quiet?
If that question makes you itchy, congratulations — you’ve found the work.
“I Don’t Have Time” vs “I Don’t Make Time”
Let’s play spot-the-difference:
I don’t have time puts you at the mercy of everything.
I don’t make time puts your hands back on the wheel.
One keeps you powerless; the other invites a plan. A messy, imperfect plan. But a plan.
The Script You Can Steal
When your brain argues, try this:
“Five minutes for me makes every other minute better.”
Tape it to your kettle. Your bathroom mirror. The back of your phone. (Yes, really.)
And when someone asks for something you truly don’t have capacity for:
“That won’t work for me, but thank you for asking.”
Short. Kind. Final. No dissertation required.
What Changes When You Change This
You’ll still have a busy life. Kids still need snacks. Clients still email. Laundry still reproduces at a suspicious rate. But you will be different:
Less brittle at 3 p.m.
Quicker to laugh.
Slower to spiral.
More able to say no without a shame hangover.
More likely to catch the moment before you snap and choose softness instead.
All from five minutes? Not overnight. But yes — compounded, it adds up. That’s how habits (and nervous systems) heal.
Your Small, Defiant Act
Tomorrow morning, light the candle.
Sit. Breathe. Let the flame steady while your breath does.
If your mind runs off to inventory the pantry, bring it back like you’d guide a toddler — patient, loving, firm.
Five minutes. Then go live your day.
If it feels beautiful? Do it again.
If it feels awkward? Do it again.
If it feels impossible? Do it for two minutes. Then three. Then five.
No more “no time.” No more handing yourself the leftovers. You are allowed to be at the centre of your own life.
Let the candle be your tiny, daily declaration: I matter. I’m listening. I’m here.
And if anyone needs you during those five minutes?
They can wait. So can the inbox. So can the laundry. The world will not crumble if you choose yourself for 300 seconds. But your life might soften around the edges — and that softness is where your strength lives.
Go light the flame. Then go be the flame.