Author: taylorasligh

Taking Care of Your Future Self: A Love Letter to You, From You

I am a chronic procrastinator. Not the “I’ll just push this task to tomorrow” kind. No, I’m the “How did I end up binge-watching Netflix for five hours knowing full well I have things to do from yesterday?” kind.

I’ve learned a lot—and I’m still learning—but one thing I know for sure is this: my future self is absolutely not here for my nonsense.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve hidden behind excuses like “I work best under pressure” or “There’s a method to my madness.” If I had a paper due in two weeks, I’d do the prep work—research the topic, make notes, double-check sources—only to finally start writing two hours before the deadline, hyped up on adrenaline and chaos.

This isn’t just about being a little late or running behind. It’s about the emotional weight of always playing catch-up. That slow-creeping anxiety that sneaks in while you’re “resting,” because you know something’s waiting on you. It’s the mental tax of dodging your own expectations.

You know how people say “treat yourself”? I used to think that meant buying the shoes, splurging on dessert, or planning a spontaneous trip because “I deserve it.” And hey, sometimes that’s true. But I’ve come to realize that real self-care isn’t always glamorous. Sometimes, it’s meal-prepping on a Sunday night. Sometimes, it’s charging your laptop before bed or taking out the trash so you don’t wake up to the smell of regret. The kind of self-love I’m leaning into now looks a lot like responsibility.

And that love starts with honoring my future self.

Our brains make around 35,000 decisions a day, most of which are automatic and based on patterns and common sense—thank God. But for those of us who overthink, overanalyze, or wait until the last possible second to act, the simple decisions—what to wear, what to eat, when to do something—can feel like they’re climbing a mountain in a snowstorm.

So lately, I’ve been reframing the annoying stuff I don’t want to do right now as acts of kindness for the version of me that will exist tomorrow, next week, or next month. Future Me deserves better. Here’s what’s been helping me take care of her.

1. Set Yourself Up for Success the Night Before

This one’s simple but powerful.

When I was younger, my dad made me pick out my outfit the night before school—shoes and all. Ironed and everything. And even though that habit didn’t stick in college, it’s making a comeback.

Now, I lay out my clothes, prep lunch, and pick my snacks before bed. It takes 10 minutes max, but the next morning? I’m already 10 steps ahead. No decision fatigue. No “where’s my left shoe?!” stress. Just a smoother start.

2. Tidy Up for Tomorrow’s Peace of Mind

I used to convince myself that clutter was part of my creative process—as long as it was clean, we were good. But what a difference it makes when I take 5–10 minutes to reset my space.

Decluttering doesn’t need to be a full-on deep clean. Sometimes it’s just clearing up your work space for when you come back to it or building in extra time to clean up your bathroom after you get ready. Coming home to a tidy space is like walking into a hug you set up earlier.

Side Note: Not all clutter is bad—some of it’s just cute. But if you’re constantly moving something out of the way or don’t even remember why you bought it, maybe it’s time to thank it and let it go.

3. Make Tomorrow’s To-Do List, Today

At the end of the day, I jot down a quick list of what needs to happen tomorrow. Nothing fancy, just a few bullet points. If the week looks repetitive, I try to sketch out a basic outline so I’m not starting from zero every morning.

This is especially helpful if your brain takes a while to defrost in the morning. Instead of flailing, you’re already focused. Future You doesn’t have to scramble if there’s a plan to follow.

4. Choose “Done” Over “Perfect”

Perfectionism is just procrastination in a cute outfit.

If you find yourself obsessing over every small detail of something that honestly doesn’t matter in the big picture (like what font to use on your grocery list), pause and ask yourself: Does this impact anything in an important way? Will this matter in five days? Five months?

Often, good enough is more than enough. Going back and forth over the things that don’t even need a second thought, lead to indecision by way of decision paralysis. Remember that making progress is the goal; whether it’s responding to one email or diving back into your journaling or devotions, even a small step forward is still a step forward.

5. Build a Routine (That You Actually Like)

Your routine doesn’t need to be intense—it just needs to work for you. The goal isn’t to restrict you but to support you. Think of it like scaffolding for your day.

That might look like morning journaling, walking after lunch, or designating Sunday afternoons for resets and restocks. These small rhythms can anchor you when life gets hectic. It’s about soft structure and consistency, not control.

6. Be Kind to Yourself, Even When You Slip Up

Listen—life happens. Some days, you’ll forget to prep. Other days, the mess will win. That doesn’t mean you’ve failed.

The goal here is not perfection. It’s showing up for yourself when you can, and offering grace when you can’t. Missing one day doesn’t erase your progress. Beating yourself up only delays your comeback. Compassion is part of the plan.

7. Practice Mindfulness to Stay Present

When you’re too tired to function, Let. Yourself. Rest. When your thoughts are racing or you’re stuck in future stress, pause and breathe. Ground yourself.

Being present isn’t just for yoga. It’s how you reclaim your focus. Mindfulness helps you move from “everything is urgent” mode to “what’s one thing I can do now?” That shift matters.

Wrapping It Up: Show Up for Your Future Self

Taking care of your future self doesn’t require a life overhaul. 

At the end of the day, showing up for your future self is about creating habits that make life easier, less stressful, and more fulfilling. It’s about doing the small things, even when you don’t feel like it, because you know they’ll make a difference down the line. You deserve to feel cared for, and that care starts with the little things—the small, consistent acts that make life easier and more peaceful for the version of you that has to live with the consequences (or benefits) of today’s choices. So, what would it look like to treat your future self with the same love and consideration you’d give a close friend? Maybe it’s meal prepping. Maybe it’s clearing your desk. Maybe it’s just deciding to go to bed 30 minutes earlier tonight. Whatever it is, trust that your future self will feel the impact—and thank you for it.

Why I’m Done Reading Minds (And Expecting You to Read Mine)

Why do I feel so comfortable breaking promises to myself?

Whether it’s getting up at a certain time, sticking to a budget, going to bed earlier, or maintaining boundaries—I’ve noticed that I bend the rules for myself far too often. And it’s not just about discipline. It’s about what I’ve trained myself to expect from me: leniency, softness, a free pass.

For so long, I’ve leaned into my deep understanding of people instead of just taking them at face value. I’m intuitive—good at reading between the lines, noticing repeated behaviors, picking up on shifts in tone and body language. I use that strength to make people feel safe, seen, and understood. It’s like a superpower. A love language, even. The kind that doesn’t need to be said aloud to be felt.

But here’s the catch: when I rely on that skill too much, I rob others of the opportunity to communicate clearly. If my dad says, “Don’t make a big deal out of my birthday,” and I still throw a surprise party because I know he’d be hurt if we didn’t, am I honoring his words or prioritizing my own interpretation? If I always take the lead, always anticipate, always read between the lines—why would the other person ever learn to meet me halfway? To be direct? To initiate difficult conversations? They wouldn’t. Until one day, I don’t read the cues, and both of us end up disappointed: them, for not being understood, and me, for not being told.

Frankly, it’s exhausting.

I’m starting to realize I need to practice taking people at their word. Not with suspicion or detachment, but with respect. That doesn’t mean I stop being thoughtful. It means I stop being a mind-reader. It means creating relationships where people can speak their truth and trust that I’ll hear them. Not decode them.

This might be a defense mechanism. A way to prove I’m worthy of love, friendship, or inclusion—by anticipating needs, preventing conflict, and staying small. Being the reliable one in the corner. Seen, helpful, quiet.

Honestly, the dynamic starts to feel familiar. Like the servant who smiles, stays agreeable, and keeps the peace just to stay in good standing. Friendly, but one-sided. Affirming, but not reciprocal. That servant gets favor, but not freedom.

And maybe part of that is because I’ve never fully learned how to trust people without questioning their motives. It’s easier to over-function and analyze than to simply ask and believe. I could blame past friendships, and that wouldn’t be wrong. But healing means reminding myself that not everyone is them. And they shouldn’t have to pay for someone else’s damage.

All of my recent revelations circle back to one thing: I don’t like confronting problems. I’d rather ignore them, distract myself, let them fizzle out until they turn into a “someday” issue. I’m a master of emotional suppression. I process things alone, in silence, until I convince myself I’m over it. And the other person? Often never even knew there was an issue to begin with.

It’s not fair—to me or them.

I’ve got this strange paradox where I’ll devalue myself to avoid conflict, but also expect others to intuit what I need without me having to say it. That’s not just unrealistic—it’s unfair. Growing up with parents who could predict my needs and being in one-sided friendships where no one cared to ask has made it hard for me to communicate clearly. I’ve been handicapped from saying, “I feel X when you Y. I need Z.”

So why do I keep breaking promises to myself? I don’t fully know yet. But I suspect it’s tied to this superhero complex I’ve created: the go-to person, the fix-it friend, the golden child. But being everything to everyone means someone always gets left behind—and it’s usually me.

I let myself off the hook because I understand myself. I give myself a pass because I know why I dropped the ball. I don’t enforce accountability because the pain of disappointing myself has become so normalized that it doesn’t motivate me anymore.

The first step, I think, is to redefine what it means to have a relationship with myself—one that’s centered around me. What and who is taking up space in my life? Why? What’s my purpose, and what does fulfillment look like from the inside out?

I need to name my values and set non-negotiable boundaries based on them. Then ask: Have I communicated these to the people in my life? Are they respected? What will I do if they’re not?

What does happiness look like without performance? Without approval? What would it mean to only show up for myself and still feel whole?

Then comes the promises: Are the ones I’m making even reasonable? Are they rooted in my growth, or in someone else’s aesthetic? Am I truly ready to trade short-term comfort for long-term joy? What’s grace versus excuse? And do I really know the difference?

I don’t have all the answers yet. But I’m starting with better questions.

Broke, But Make It Cute: My DIY Decor Formula

I’m not an interior designer. I just like putting things together so they look and feel right. Over time, I realized that making decor decisions can get messy real fast, especially when you’re juggling style, budget, and functionality.

When I got my first apartment I found myself overwhelmed with ideas of my future home… but no real direction to make it happen realistically and within my means. Aside from a Pinterest board of cute furniture, aesthetics, and nicknacks, I practically had nothing.

Or at least, that’s what I thought.

But honestly? Between friends and family spring cleaning giveaways, thrifting treasures, closing sales (RIP Christmas Tree Shops and Bed, Bath & Beyond — IYKYK), and repurposing what I already had, I furnished my whole place. Bedroom, living room, dining area, office space, you name it. When I was all moved in and furnished, I only had to buy about 10% brand new. I turned lemons into lemonade, by keeping my vision for my space open-minded, taking advantage of what I had, and working around it. This thought process was grounded in a simple acronym I like to call STUMP. This acronym is a tool that helped me keep focus on what mattered most before I swiped my card to buy anything for my home. Here’s the breakdown:

S – Stylishness
How cute is this piece going to look in your space? This isn’t about expensive designer pieces; any thrifted lamp can get a new lampshade, and old frames can easily become gallery walls. But does it vibe well with what you’re curating? Or would it mean starting from scratch to accommodate it? If it’s just meh, it might not be worth the spot in your home or budget.

T – Trendiness
Is this a “right now” thing, or might it make you cringe later? Starting out with a very limited budget, I tried my hardest to dodge trendy impulse buys that would’ve “I bought this in 2023” in 10 years. Sometimes you want to be bold, but other times you want to keep it classic. A fun-shaped throw pillow is one thing, but a bright orange leather couch is basically forever. Choose wisely.

U – Usefulness
Does it actually do something? Or is it just filling space? Don’t get me wrong, I love a good trinket (and they can be absolutely necessary to fit the vibe you’re going for). But if it’s purely decorative but adds zero function, make sure it’s bringing enough style or joy to justify its place.

M – Maintenance
How much time and energy will it take to keep this looking like new? Painting a thrift find is one thing. But glass coffee tables and the all-white aesthetic? Nobody has time for complicated cleaning routines or furniture that can’t survive one spill. Shout out to the folks with relatives who still keep their furniture in plastic. If it works, it works, but I want better for us.

P – Price
Considering all of the above, is this worth the cost? Sometimes spending a little more upfront saves you headaches later. Other times, you can wait, compare prices elsewhere, and maybe even score a steal that looks great and works just fine. Even if it’ll be temporary. Arguably the best piece of advice my mom gave me through this process is that you don’t have to get everything all at once. Make your wish list, find your non-negotiables, talk it over with your budget, and work your way up to it.

Decorating my apartment on a budget wasn’t just about saving money—it was about being intentional, creative, and patient. STUMP gave me a framework to filter out the noise, avoid buyer’s remorse, and build a home that actually feels like me. Your space doesn’t have to be Instagram-perfect or filled to the brim on day one. Start where you are, use what you have, and let your home evolve with you. Whether it’s a thrifted chair with a wobbly leg or a $5 rug that miraculously pulls the room together, the magic isn’t in how much you spend—it’s in how it all comes together.

The Math of Giving and Taking

When we’re in school, friendships are unitary—like a 12-in-one package.
The same friend you eat with is the one you play with, sit beside, vent to about your annoying teacher, and tell when your brother’s getting on your nerves. They’re the one who knows about your crush lending you a pencil.
Statistically speaking, we’re around these people more than our own families.

And it doesn’t change much in college. Your roommate might also be your classmate, your study buddy, your ride-or-die. Nearly 24/7.

But over time, our environments shift. We grow—mentally, emotionally, spiritually—and we start keeping or choosing friends who fulfill a specific need that’s vacant.

Your BFF from childhood might still hold your heart but no longer your schedule. Your work buddy may not hang out with you after 5 p.m. if they don’t see you as their “social friend.” Your roommate might not open up emotionally if they’ve already got someone else they turn to for that.

We all have to stay aware of how much we give and how much we gain in each relationship. It’s hard to admit, but easy to feel, when a dynamic changes. When one person outgrows the other. It’s a growing pain—an ache that feels both new and familiar.

And some folks? Some are leeches. Whether they mean to be or not.
Just like your body begs for rest after a marathon, your mind and spirit crave distance after enduring a one-sided friendship.

But it’s not always on the “taker.” We have to remember: our cups aren’t translucent. If we’re constantly pouring into someone, there’s no way for them to see how much we have left to give. They can’t hold us up to the light and check our levels.

That’s on us. Maturing means identifying these imbalances, having the hard conversations when needed, and following through with actions that match.

Eventually, they’ll understand—when the stream turns to a trickle, or when they notice their half-full cup keeps leaving you half-empty.

Boundaries—beyond the therapy buzzword—are what draw the line between what’s acceptable and what’s not, what we want and what we need.

And if you’re giving more than you’re taking? That should feel like stepping over your own boundary. You owe it to yourself to build a circle that feeds the parts of you that need it most. That has to be the priority.

Now don’t get me wrong—reciprocity is the goal. But I do believe in giving to the “takers” when we can. That’s how leaders are made—through mentorship, coaching, parenting, siblinghood.

But. And this has to be a stern but:

You’ve got to move forward, too. Just like on planes—when they tell you you’ve got to put your own oxygen mask on first—you can’t help anybody if you’re gasping for air.

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