Why Wellness Made Me Unwell

Discomfort was curdling my stomach. I searched the many platforms connected to my Wi-Fi: “How to manage anxiety?”, “How to stop an anxiety spiral in its tracks?”, “Wellness tricks to manage anxiety” and “What am I doing wrong?”.

With every swipe of the videos dedicated to managing anxiety and all the other stuff the algorithm sent my way – multiple and contradictory videos on the ‘right’ way to manage PCOS, how to attribute ADHD, the benefits of pilates or not – my insides continued to churn. There was stuff about how the things I was doing that were at odds with what I should be doing. My anxiety levels were rising with the constant contradictions I was exposed to on TikTok, Instagram and Pinterest – all hashtagged and filed under ‘wellness’.

I wanted to feel well, but why did it feel hard to do it correctly?

I was an early adopter of militant skincare as an act of self-care. It began with the 12-step skin routine of the late 2010s and early 2020s that gripped us all, particularly when Covid hit. Everyone was at home, make-up abandoned, yet chasing after the glassy complexions of the Korean stars on our favourite K-dramas. Locked up with nothing but the internet and our own faces gaping back at us from our many screens, we believed that skincare was the new horizon of feeling better. Taking care of our skin was an act of wellness, with the added bonus of keeping ageing at bay. It was wellness that could illuminate us. It was wellness we should invest in. Every time a product became THE product, I became equally convinced I needed it – and convinced that if I did not get it, I was missing out – and failing at being well.

Then two things happened to burn me. That is not a metaphor, I mean literally burned.

Just a few days after I posted a video on Instagram about my step-by-step skincare routine, the Egyptian Clay Mask that was THE THING on wellness TikTok at the time, arrived in the mail. Being the skincare veteran that I was, I decided that I could leave it on for a little bit longer than the recommended amount for sensitive skin. But as soon as I washed it off, I knew that all hell had broken loose. My moisturiser was burning my face and although my skin looked great, it was raw and hot to the touch. In panic, I messaged every doctor and skincare aficionado I knew and turned to the very same internet that got me there. It soon became clear that I had damaged my skin barrier and burnt it. I felt so betrayed. I wept.

Not from pain but because I felt like a failure. I had failed at self-care, at skincare and at wellness. I had failed at taking care of myself.

Typing this out now sounds very dramatic. But I am not remotely exaggerating. Skincare was the band aid holding all this together. The focus on wellness, on this dedication to myself, was meant to make sure nothing else fell apart.

In my mind, wellness and self-care were entwined with skincare. I was so proud to have shared a video on social media about how I was killing it. How I loved skincare and it was ME. Then I let myself on fire? I did not feel great.It took over three years to bring my skin back to a place where I could even think of experimenting with it. And when I finally felt ready to introduce new products into my line-up (I had paired back to facewash, moisturiser, sunblock and, twice a week, retinol), I did my research.

In those three years in between, I tried many other acts of wellness. Changes in diet. Eliminating some foods and introducing others. Working out hard, working out softer. Isolating and socialising at high intensity, flip-flopping speeds. I also made several attempts at establishing a connection with a mental health professional. But in the end, I turned to the one thing that could make me well – my skin.

I pored over the many SkinTok influencers I followed, the dermatologists whose pages I frequented, picked some items and bought them. Among those products was one a fellow skin girlie said was an “industry plant” and not a high-level Korean skincare product. What followed was a spiral of panic. That I had wasted money. That I had fallen for ads and manufactured reviews. I was an idiot. I was stupid. I could not take care of myself. I did not feel well as a result of my actions.

My friend said we needed to calm down. Skincare was supposed to be fun. We needed to relax.

What I did not know then, but I do now, is that wellness is not about slapping on toner. It is about being WELL. Being mentally well. I could spend thousands of rupees on skincare, sweat thousands of sweats working out and spend thousands of hours on self-care and wellness on social media. But the constant influx of information was keeping me rooted to one spot, leaving me unsure about where to turn or how to contend with the feelings I was having – I do not feel well, and I feel like I cannot get well unless I do it the right way.

So what is the right way?

From 2018 to 2025, I had about 10 or 11 appointments with therapists. I never got past episode one of each season, because my motivations were shallow. I thought I had to have therapy because the Canva-designed squares on Instagram insisted that we all need therapy. Motivational quotes were directing my emotions. “You need to let go” and “You need to hone in” would shine up at me from my screen. I was intellectualising myself into paralysed stagnancy. Every venting session with a friend was peppered with therapy speak – it was so popular on social media that it became part of everyone’s language… “Trauma, narcissism, introvert, extrovert, peace, sensitive, triggered, boundaries.” And throughout this uncertainty, I was toning, Vitamin-C-ing, sun blocking and blowing my wallet on my skin. I looked good. But I still did not feel good.

It was only late last year that I felt I was ready for therapy and that rather than putting on a performance, I would actually listen. It was the first time I confessed that those constant social media suggestions on how to be well left me frantically scrolling, but that no matter what I did, by the end of that day, someone or something would tell me I should have done something another way, leaving me helpless. I felt I was being easily duped and was just one turn away from being well but too lost to get there.

The fact is that wellness has become a product, an aspiration and in many ways it has become unattainable. I consider myself pretty media literate, but even I fell for it. The wellness culture has exploited the search for balms and salves, and like any industry, it is constantly evolving to tell you that there is something better out there.

I understand why wellness can be extremely beneficial, and I am still very much a devotee of skincare. But I have adapted my approach to go beyond products. I have woken up to the fact that wellness is also a business and that I should trust my own instincts on what can make me feel better. I have learnt to prioritise fun as a form of wellness. That saying ‘no’ is a form of wellness. That discovering or even failing are forms of wellness. That leaning into discomfort can be as healing as refusing to participate in it.

I still do get dragged into the inspirational quotes and fads of the moment – but I think that when it comes to wellness, I have finally found a place where I need not feel so unwell about it.

Sabah Bano Malik is the host of Full Disclosure on Cityfm89, a content creator and a culture critic. Instagram: @SabahBanoMalik