I Tried Living by My Own Rules for a Week - Here’s What I Learned
I know I’ve done all the versions of myself proud. Seven days of living by my own rules showed me what that actually felt like — I feel present again.
By Cordelia Simmons, Featured Writer.
For a recent birthday, a friend gifted me a copy of Melissa Febos’ ‘Girlhood’ (2021) a collection of essays by the acclaimed author centred around resilience, reclamation and the exorcism of social messaging imparted on us by the structures we grow up in.
In her last essay, Les Calanques (2021), she holds two journeys to Paris up to the light - one in the throes of her addiction, and one years later having found a sense of peace and understanding. Towards the end, Febos discusses her ‘modules’ - a group of practices that support her emotional and psychological health.
As I sat there, I wondered what my modules might be and what it would look like to adhere to them. In Les Calanques, Febos lists hers as: morning journalling, a meeting, exercise, meditation, writing and meaningful contact with friends. Now, I wouldn’t say work meetings help me maintain my mental health. In fact, sometimes they do quite the opposite, so I decide to switch a meeting for reading - a habit I would love to do even more of.
I’m not a huge proponent of self-help ‘challenges’ and I was pleased to see Febos clarifying that a day where she is able to practice all six is a perfect one, with the majority of her days including just two or three.
With my six modules now saved in the Notes app on my phone, I set off to chronicle the first seven days of my new curriculum.
Day 1
Morning journalling:
I sit at the breakfast bar in my flat and reflect on the pressures I put on myself to be perfect at everything I attempt. I wonder if one of the beauties in life is making mistakes because making mistakes means you’re taking a risk. Risks don’t always pay off but when they do, they can change everything for the better.
Meditation:
Towards the end of the day, I start to feel guilty for not doing it.
Reading:
I spend my lunch break starting Reservoir Bitches (2024) - a collection of short stories by Mexican writer Delia de la Cerda. Everything feels so vivid.
Exercise:
There’s no time and my legs hurt. Maybe tomorrow.
Meaningful contact with friends:
Two friends come over for Spaghetti Bolognese and bruschetta. When Britney Spears plays off the speaker, one of my friends dances on the linoleum floor of the living room. She isn’t thinking. She’s just doing. I feel my eyes sting as I watch her. They’re happy tears.
Writing:
I start planning a short essay on the similarities between reality TV and narrative non-fiction. Not sure if it has any legs.
Day 2
Morning Journalling:
I reflect on the energy I get from going to museums as an adult, and how different I used to feel when I was younger. ‘Wow this is the first time in weeks I’ve not written about how anxious I am’ I note.
Meditation:
I skip it again but contemplate if I meditate in non-traditional ways more than I think. I do some box-breathing in the shower and decide that counts.
Reading:
I finish Reservoir Bitches(2024) and cry at the last story ‘La Huasera’ - a letter to a friend who was a victim of Mexico’s high femicide rate. La Huasera refers to a fictional woman who collects bones, saving them all until she lights a fire, transforming into a wolf. ‘I hope someday I get to hear you howling in the night’, the narrator writes to her friend.
Exercise:
In my weekly Reformer Pilates class, I feel a new sense of gratitude for what my body is capable of. During the final minutes, a small bit of fluff hovers next to my face, and as I stretch I think of the girl I used to be - the girl whose stomach was dotted with red marks from the nights I’d spend trying to yank the fat off it. I always feel emotional after I exercise. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s because it’s one of the only times I see my body for what it can do, not how it can be seen, or how it can be used.
Meaningful contact with friends:
I send an old photo of myself from 2016 to a group chat with some friends. I wish I’d known them then. I would have felt a lot safer.
Writing:
Nothing today.
Day 3
Morning Journalling:
Today, I wake up feeling positive. ‘I know I’ve done all the versions of myself proud’ I write.
Meditation:
I drift off for a few minutes looking at the sky on my morning commute. That counts, right?
Reading:
I start ‘Bad Taste: Or the Politics of Ugliness’ (2024) - a non-fiction book dissecting the classist connotations of taste as a concept. It’s fascinating and the cover is leopard print.
Exercise:
My abs are sore from Reformer Pilates yesterday, so I walk the city instead. It always makes me feel creative. Maybe it’s all the noise.
Meaningful contact with friends:
My partner and I go to a concert in Hammersmith. We don’t talk but the space between our bodies feels non-existent as we stand there. The music is so loud I can feel it in my chest.
Writing:
I wake up at 1am from a dream with a sentence stuck in my head. I jot it down in the notebook I keep next to the bed.
Day 4
Morning Journalling:
Today, I wake up anxious. My chest feels all tight, so I journal for twenty minutes. I plan a weekend trip to the Tate Britain to take my mind off things.
Meditation:
I download a meditation app and try a 61 Point Body Scan. By the end, my body is tingling.
Reading:
I read an article in Granta about the architecture of oppression(2021) and reflect on the architecture of my life. I think of my childhood bedroom and the fluorescent stars on my ceiling I used to stare at when I couldn’t sleep. Last time I went, there were faint star shapes on the ceiling despite the stickers being taken down years ago.
Exercise:
I take myself for a run around Victoria Park. There’s a man teaching his girlfriend how to ride a bike. She falls off and they laugh - the contagious kind that breaks through my headphones.
Meaningful contact with friends:
I text one of my friends - I hope you know how much you mean to me. I bump into another friend on Broadway Market. We lean against a store-front and talk about her career. ‘You should be so proud of yourself’, I say.
Writing:
I start a new piece on masturbation as a site of rebellion. Starting something is always my favourite part of the process. It’s when the words feel most alive.
Day 5
Morning Journalling:
I write about my friends and the privilege of being loved by them.
Meditation:
At the end of the day, I do a guided visualisation - one that asks me to send positivity to someone I love, someone I’m indifferent towards, and someone I feel negatively about. The final one is the hardest. The words ‘I wish you well’ feel like clay in my mouth. Does that make me a bad person?
Reading:
I read an article in the Sunday newspapers about David Bowie and his fascination with fascism. I wonder who I can listen to now without feeling guilty.
Exercise:
I’m staying at my partner’s parents’ house, and I walk an hour to a nearby contemporary art museum. I join a talk about the use of art as a tool of expression for the oppressed before walking into an exhibition by a Balinese artist on the power of sex for spiritual assertion. The paintings are bright pinks and purples.
Meaningful contact with friends:
I watch my partner laugh with his family. Sometimes, he does this little snort, and it always makes me smile. It’s like he’s forgotten about what anyone might think and succumbed to the laughter. He looks so free.
Writing:
I work for an hour or so on a piece around my relationship to anger. Ironically, I feel at peace as I do.
Day 6
Morning Journalling:
It’s the anniversary of something I don’t like to remember today, and I try to journal about how far I’ve come since, but something feels insincere. Eventually, I write about seven-year-old me. ‘I know her better than ever before’, I note.
Meditation:
I’ve felt numb all day, so I decide to scream into a pillow. It makes me feel active for a second.
Reading:
I couldn’t focus on the words in my book. My eyes follow the paragraph while my brain thinks about something else. I put the book down and watch The Office instead. Something about knowing what jokes are coming up makes me feel calmer.
Exercise:
I drag myself to a hot yoga class down the road. For the first time all day, I manage to take a full breath. ‘Don’t hold your breath - you’re human’ the instructor says.
Meaningful contact with friends:
I’m not feeling up to seeing anyone today, so I cancel my plans. On my evening dog walk, I see a young boy in boxing gear practicing his footwork on the pavement. He smiles up at me. That’s meaningful enough for today.
Writing:
I can’t bring myself to open my laptop.
Day 7
Morning Journalling:
I get some amazing news about a big project I’ve been working on. ‘I just feel so fucking proud of myself’ I write.
Meditation:
At the end of the day, I do a meditation for good sleep but I’m so excited it doesn’t work. As my partner sleeps next to me, I think about my future— something I’ve only become comfortable with in the last year or two.
Reading:
I finish ‘Bad Taste: Or the Politics of Ugliness’ and text two friends telling them they have to read it. ‘It will change the way you think’ I say. Later, I read an article on Substack about the Charli XCX/Taylor Swift feud and then feel guilty for participating in it. Why do I feel so guilty all the time?
Exercise:
I go on a morning jog in Haggerston Park and see two kids playing Tag before school. On the way back, there’s these leaf stains on the tarmac.
Meaningful contact with friends:
After work, I meet my friend for a drink in Shoreditch. We talk about how the process of writing helps me connect with an unadulterated version of myself. ‘It’s like childhood me was buried under all these layers and writing helps me spell those layers out so I can see clearly’ I say.
Writing:
I spend a few minutes checking the grammar on an old essay, but my partner comes home before I get too engrossed. He’s picked up a takeaway and we cuddle on the sofa watching The Traitors instead.
Before making the decision to commit to my modules, I was struggling with a sense of purposelessness - one that usually shows up after I finish working on a large project. For the first time in a year, I was lost and apathetic. As Melissa Febos puts in her essay, ‘Thank you for taking care of yourself’ (2021), this type of disassociation can feel as if you are observing yourself as “one would a figure in a diorama” - inanimate, frozen in time.
After just a week, I found myself reaching for my notebook more, jotting down the things I saw, smelt, tasted. I was present again - a subject of my own story, alive, and most importantly of all, human.
It’s made me wonder what other people’s modules might look like - the small, ordinary rituals that keep you tethered to yourself. Maybe it’s worth asking: what would yours be? I’d love to hear below in the comments.
References
de la Cerda, D., 2024. Reservoir Bitches. Translated by H. Cleary & J. Sanches. London: Scribe Publications.
Dennis, C., 2021. A Series of Rooms Occupied by Ghislaine Maxwell. Granta, 29 July.
Febos, M., 2021, Girlhood, London: Bloomsbury Publishing, page 198.
Febos, M., 2021, Girlhood, London: Bloomsbury Publishing, page 271-311.
Febos, M., 2021, Girlhood, London: Bloomsbury Publishing.
Olah, N., 2024. Bad Taste: Or the Politics of Ugliness. Paperback ed. London: Dialogue Books.