Why I Created My Own Magic to Rest (Luxury, Rage, and My Own Damn Balm)

I’ve been swinging between extremes. A long stretch of deep rest—after grief, after burnout, after breaking open. And now, a full sprint of overcommitment.

I’ve been multitasking myself into depletion. Teaching rest while skipping my own. Creating healing products while pushing past my own capacity. Writing about nervous system regulation while quietly unraveling inside.

And the truth is: I’m tired. Not just physically, but spiritually. Hormonal. Bone-deep.

When I push too hard for too long—when my arms ache from screens, when the digital noise drowns out my breath—I don’t just feel fatigue. I feel rage. Not chaos rage. Not drama. Just a clenched jaw. A slow burn. A rising grief masked as irritation.

So last week, I did something radical.

I made myself a balm. Like I make for others. Like I sell. But I made MYSELF a balm.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

Nefertari’s Magic Balm was born from that quiet fire. It was my answer to a skin issue, a sensory craving, and a personal rebellion against slathering myself in four mediocre products when I could make one that felt like gold.

I based it on Egyptian Magic. But better. Luxurious. Simple. Purposeful. For me.

I created it to hold myself—to remind myself.

And then, something shifted.

I started walking again. Slowly. Intentionally. Around the lake near my home. I took a 20-minute rest. Not a nap. Not a scroll. Just sitting and staring out the window like a cat. I began dark bathing—showers and baths in full darkness to decompress from overstimulation and the overuse of my eyes and mind.

I doubled down on using my own Goddess Tincture religiously—40–60 drops, twice a day. (Consistency reinforces positive behaviors).

And through it all, I remembered:

🖤 I am a writer. I am a healer. I am not a machine.

I want my work to support my life, not consume it.

I don’t want to go viral. I want to go rooted.

I don’t want to chase content and sales and opportunity. I want to chase sunlight and lake paths and the kind of rest that makes me luminous again.

So yes, better is more expensive. Yes, I created a balm that costs more than I planned. But I’m done apologizing for making magic to meet my own needs.

And even with all that remembering… Here I am again—waiting on a Zoom call, finishing this piece on a break, in a moment of quiet rebellion against my own overcommitment.

Because this is what returning looks like: It’s not always graceful. It’s not always a clean break. Sometimes, it’s a soft interruption in the middle of the noise.

If you're building something soulful, and it’s making you tired—maybe this is your sign to pause. To walk. To bathe in the dark. To make yourself a balm. To stop performing rest and actually touch it.

I want to live on land and off my computer. I want to write books that matter and only post when it helps someone remember their soul.

This is my beginning. This is my own damn balm. And it’s working.

– Charlynn