The Lost Art of Being Cared For
Why receiving care may be one of the healthiest things you do this summer.
There was a moment the other evening that has stayed with me ever since.
After a full day at the spa, caring for guests through massage, facials, quiet conversation, and moments of rest, I came home carrying that familiar ache that settles into your body after spending the day taking care of others. It wasn't exhaustion exactly. It was the feeling that comes after you've poured so much of yourself into others that you realize there's very little left to give yourself.
Recently, I added a cozy chair and ottoman to our primary bedroom, creating a little reading nook tucked away from the distractions of everyday life. It has quickly become one of my favorite corners of our home. There is no television, no scrolling, no endless notifications—just books, soft light, a cozy throw blanket, and an invitation to slow down. After writing about our new phone-free philosophy at The Tiny Spa a few weeks ago, I realized I wanted to create that same feeling in our own home. A place where I could simply be present.
That evening, instead of sinking into the couch, I settled into that chair with a book and asked my husband if he would use the massage gun on my back for a few minutes. Then, almost as an afterthought, I asked if he would rub my feet.
Lately, as I've entered this season of perimenopause, I've been dealing with an unexpected companion—foot pain that feels very much like the beginning stages of plantar fasciitis. Just another one of those lovely little surprises that seems to arrive with your forties. After standing for hours each day at the spa, my feet had been begging for a little extra attention.
He reached for our bottle of Eminence Organics Yuzu Solid Body Oil and slowly began massaging my lower legs and feet. If you've never experienced this body oil, it's one of my favorite summertime companions. The bright citrus aroma instantly feels uplifting, while the nourishing blend of botanical oils creates the perfect glide for massage and leaves the skin beautifully hydrated afterward. As he worked the oil into my tired muscles, I could feel the tension I'd been carrying all day begin to soften.
The room was quiet. Well, mostly quiet, our son Grayson kept popping in to see what we were doing. Evening light filtered gently through the windows, books surrounded us, and for a few precious moments there was nowhere else I needed to be and nothing else asking for my attention. It wasn't an elaborate ritual. It didn't take an hour. Yet it was exactly what I needed.
As I sat there receiving something so simple, yet so deeply comforting, I realized how unfamiliar that feeling can become.
Caring for other people has become second nature to me. It is woven into both my work and my life. Every day at The Tiny Spa, I prepare tea, warm towels, massage tired shoulders, care for sun-kissed skin, and create experiences designed to help someone remember what it feels like to slow down. It is work that fills my heart in ways I never imagined possible, but like so many women, I've realized how easy it is to become exceptionally good at giving while quietly forgetting that we need to receive, too.
I don't think I'm alone in that.
So many of us spend our days caring for everyone around us. We nurture our children, support our spouses, check in on aging parents, run businesses, tend our homes, and somehow remember the endless details that keep life moving. We answer the emails, make the grocery lists, fold the laundry, water the garden, and carry so much of the invisible work that often goes unnoticed. We become so accustomed to being the caretaker that asking someone else to care for us can feel almost uncomfortable.
I see it every day at the spa.
Guests apologize for falling asleep during their massage. They apologize for arriving with skin they think isn't perfect or for forgetting to shave before a treatment. They apologize for needing the rest they came looking for in the first place.
I've always found that fascinating because somewhere along the way we've learned to apologize for taking up space, for needing rest, and for allowing someone to nurture us. As though receiving care is something we have to earn rather than something we naturally deserve.
One of my favorite moments to witness happens about halfway through a treatment. A guest's shoulders soften. Their breathing slows. Their hands unclench. Sometimes they drift into sleep. Sometimes there's complete silence. Sometimes they leave with tears quietly welling in their eyes because they didn't realize how desperately they needed someone else to hold space for them, if only for an hour or two.
Those moments remind me that what we offer at The Tiny Spa has never really been about facials or massage. Those are simply the vehicle. What we're really offering is permission: permission to stop performing, permission to stop producing, and permission to simply receive. In a culture that celebrates constant productivity, choosing rest can almost feel rebellious. Yet I've come to believe that it's in these quiet moments—when we allow ourselves to slow down, soften, and simply be—that we begin finding our way back to ourselves.
Nature has been teaching me this lesson all summer long. Nearly every morning and evening I find myself wandering through the garden with my chocolate bone broth in hand (btw this is the best protein drink I’ve ever had!) or watering can nearby, noticing what's changed overnight. Some flowers are reaching their peak while others have already begun fading. Tomatoes continue ripening on the vine, basil grows faster than I can harvest it, and the hydrangeas quietly ask for another drink after a stretch of hot July afternoons.
Not once has my garden apologized for needing water.
The flowers don't bloom endlessly without nourishment. The herbs don't continue producing without being harvested and tended. Even in the abundance of summer, nature is constantly receiving exactly what it needs in order to continue growing.
Why do we expect ourselves to be any different?
That's why I've been thinking so much lately about rituals—not the elaborate ones we imagine we'll do someday when life finally slows down, but the quiet, ordinary ones that gently shape our days. Making a cup of tea before the rest of the house wakes. Reading a chapter before bed instead of reaching for your phone. Walking through the garden to see what bloomed while you were sleeping. Lingering just a little longer after your evening shower.
These small moments have become some of the most meaningful parts of my day because they remind me that caring for myself doesn't require an entire afternoon. It begins with paying attention.
Lately, one of my favorite summer rituals has been keeping the Yuzu Solid Body Oil close by instead of tucked away in the bathroom cabinet. Some evenings it's my husband massaging it into my tired feet after a long day, and other evenings it's simply me taking a few extra minutes before bed to slow down and care for myself. The bright citrus scent has quietly become a signal to my mind and body that the work of the day is finished and it's finally time to rest.
Once a week, I've also found myself reaching for the Stone Crop Body Scrub before smoothing the Stone Crop Body Oil over warm, damp skin. There's something incredibly satisfying about gently polishing away dry summer skin before wrapping it in nourishing hydration. It feels less like a skincare routine and more like a reminder that healthy, radiant skin isn't created by rushing through another task on the to-do list. It's nurtured through consistency, gentleness, and care.
Even my morning skincare has begun to feel different this season. A few drops of Strawberry Rhubarb Hyaluronic Serum have become less about chasing perfect skin and more about giving my skin exactly what it's asking for after long days in the sunshine, the garden, and the summer heat. Hydration, I've realized, is an act of listening.
Maybe that's what receiving really is.
Listening when your body asks for rest.
Listening when your heart longs for quiet.
Listening when your feet ache after a long day.
Listening when someone offers to help instead of insisting you can do it all yourself.
That evening in my little reading nook wasn't remarkable because of the massage gun or the body oil. It was remarkable because I allowed myself to need something. I asked for help. I received it without apology, and in those quiet moments I was reminded that allowing ourselves to be cared for is not selfish. It's restorative. It's healing. It's deeply human.
As I reflected on that evening later, I realized the greatest gift wasn't the massage itself. It was the quiet act of allowing someone who loves me to care for me. In a world that constantly pulls our attention in a hundred different directions, those few uninterrupted minutes of connection felt almost sacred. There were no phones in our hands, no television humming in the background, no notifications demanding our attention. Just two people slowing down long enough to be fully present with one another.
I couldn't help but think about how often we overlook these ordinary moments. We chase bigger vacations, grander experiences, or the next thing we believe will finally make us feel rested, yet so much of what our hearts are longing for can be found right where we are. A gentle touch. A meaningful conversation. A shared silence. Someone noticing that we're tired before we even have to say a word. These are the moments that quietly knit us back together.
Perhaps that's one of the greatest invitations of this season: not only to become better at caring for others, but to become more willing to receive the love, kindness, and care that's already being offered to us. Sometimes the most courageous thing we can do isn't giving more. It's allowing ourselves to receive.
This week, I hope you'll allow yourself a little more of that.
Maybe it's asking your partner for a shoulder rub after dinner. Maybe it's spending ten unrushed minutes caring for your skin instead of scrolling through your phone. Maybe it's creating a cozy corner in your own home where books replace screens and silence replaces constant stimulation. Or maybe it's finally booking the massage or facial you've been postponing because everyone else's needs seemed to come first.
Whatever it looks like, don't wait until you're completely depleted before allowing yourself to receive.
The world asks so much of us already. Perhaps this summer we can practice something different. We can choose to notice the ordinary moments that quietly restore us. We can create little rituals that invite us to slow down. We can care for our bodies with the same tenderness we so freely offer everyone else. We can welcome moments of connection instead of distraction, and remember that healing often begins in the simplest places—a quiet chair, a favorite book, a walk through the garden, a cup of tea, or the loving hands of someone who simply wants to care for us.
That's what all of this has been teaching me—not just this summer, but this season of life. That caring for ourselves isn't something we do after everything else is finished. It's how we find our way back. Back to what matters. Back to the quiet. Back to the people we love. Back to nature.
And, perhaps most importantly, back to ourselves.
In love & gratitude,
Jamie
P.S. If you're longing for a little extra care this season, we'd love to welcome you into one of our Summer Seasonal Facials or Massages. From the first cup of Tulsi tea to the final moments of quiet rest, every detail has been thoughtfully designed to help you slow down, replenish, and return to yourself. And if you'd like to bring a bit of that ritual home, stop by the spa and let us help you discover a few of our favorite Eminence Organics summer companions, including the Yuzu Solid Body Oil, the Stone Crop Body Scrub and Body Oil, and the Strawberry Rhubarb Hyaluronic Serum. Sometimes the smallest rituals become the ones we treasure most.