June Notes: On Tenderness, Ritual, and Becoming
How I’m breaking cycles, building rituals, and learning to mother myself while raising my children.
Hey Friend, Welcome to June
We made it. A new month, a fresh page. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how so much of what I’m doing now. Slowing down, lighting candles, saying “no” without guilt, it wasn’t something I saw growing up. I didn’t have a self-care blueprint. No one taught me how to choose myself. So I’m figuring it out as I go — for me, and for my babies. This month, I’m sharing what that looks like in real life: breaking cycles, building rituals, and becoming the kind of mother (and woman) I needed back then.
I don’t remember anyone in my family having a skincare routine.
No bath rituals. No quiet mornings. No deep sighs of satisfaction just for being alive.
The women who raised me smelled like coffee, dish soap, and heat. They moved with urgency, not pleasure. Everything they did had a purpose, usually for someone else. Theirs was a life of service, survival, and sacrifice.
Rest wasn’t modeled.
Softness wasn’t safe.
Tenderness was a reward, not a right.
And I watched them closely. I studied the way their backs never touched the couch cushions for long. How they kept their pain hidden behind pressed slacks and polite smiles. The way they poured everything they had into the people around them, and then somehow found more to give.
I learned early that womanhood meant work. It meant holding your breath, your tongue, and sometimes your truth.
So I did the same.
Until my body, my spirit, and my motherhood began to ask for more.
The Inheritance of Exhaustion
I come from a long line of women who never stopped moving.
Puerto Rican matriarchs who were both the foundation and the roof of their homes.
Southern aunties who kept the world turning with their hands and their prayers.
Women who showed up for church every Sunday looking sharp, even if their hearts were heavy and their pockets were light.
They were beautiful and worn. Loving and depleted.
They gave everything to everyone and had nothing left for themselves.
That was the blueprint I inherited.
Do everything. Be everything.
Stay busy. Stay strong. Don’t complain. Don’t crack.
I internalized it without question.
I thought being exhausted was normal. That saying “I’m fine” when I wasn’t was a part of growing up.
No one ever pulled me aside to say, “You can choose peace. You can choose yourself.”
So I didn’t.
Not until motherhood brought me to my knees.
When My Body Asked Me to Slow Down
After my second baby, I was stretched thin in every way.
Sleep-deprived. Spiritually disconnected. Functioning, but not truly living.
I remember standing in the mirror one morning, looking at a version of myself I didn’t recognize.
My eyes were tired. My face looked dull. But I kept pushing through.
Not completely sober, but I kept going.
Once I had my third child, I was completely checked out. I could no longer function. I felt like I had lost my mind.
I snapped at my oldest child for something small, and immediately felt the weight of guilt settle in. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried into a towel, sitting on the cool tile floor, whispering, “I can’t do this like this anymore.”
That moment wasn’t the start of a transformation, but it was the start of awareness.
I realized I had never learned how to care for myself in any real, nourishing way.
I didn’t know how to rest without guilt. I didn’t know how to say no without shame.
All I knew was depletion, and I was drowning in it.
But something in me — maybe the part that still believed in softness — decided to try something new.
Learning a New Rhythm
Healing didn’t come all at once. It came in tiny, awkward steps.
One day, I made myself a cup of tea and drank it slowly, without multitasking.
Another day, I didn’t answer the phone.
Then, I started lighting a candle each evening, even if the house wasn’t perfectly clean.
These moments felt indulgent at first. Selfish, even.
Because when you grow up watching women who only rest when they’re sick, choosing yourself feels like rebellion.
But I kept going. I kept asking myself simple questions like, “What do I need right now?”
And for the first time in my life, I listened to the answers.
I bought pajamas that felt soft against my skin.
I started playing music in the mornings — Solange, Cleo Sol, a little India.Arie, when I needed to remember my worth.
I wore oil on my skin and gold hoops in the kitchen, not for anyone else, but because I liked how it made me feel.
Little by little, I started seeing myself again. Not just as a mother or a wife or a daughter, but as a woman with desires, boundaries, and dreams.
I wasn’t just breaking cycles. I was writing a new script.
Mothering Myself While Raising My Children
One of the most revolutionary things I’ve done as a mother is let my children see me care for myself.
They see me sit in silence when I need to recharge.
They hear me say, “Mama needs a moment,” without apology.
They watch me put on shea butter slowly, lovingly.
They sit next to me when I journal, asking questions, curious about what I’m writing.
I don’t just tell them to love themselves. I show them how I love me.
I know now that I’m not just mothering them.
I’m also mothering the younger version of myself who never saw this kind of love modeled.
Who never saw a woman choose joy for no reason.
Who didn’t know that taking up space was something she was allowed to do.
I still mess up. I still overextend myself sometimes.
But now I know how to come back.
To pause. To breathe. To choose softness again.
And my children are growing up with a front-row seat to that process.
That’s the legacy I want to leave.
A New Way Forward
I never had a self-care example growing up.
So I decided to become one.
Not perfectly, but intentionally.
With small rituals, honest conversations, and a commitment to rest, even when it feels uncomfortable.
I am becoming the woman my younger self needed.
The one who knows how to say no without guilt.
Who claims joy without explanation.
Who creates sacred moments in the middle of chaos.
This is not luxury.
This is not vanity.
This is liberation.
Because when my daughter watches me light a candle and sip my tea slowly, she’s learning that peace is her birthright.
When my sons see me rest, they’re learning that women are not machines.
When I care for myself out loud, I am breaking patterns in real time.
And I hope that someday, when they are grown, they’ll remember this version of me.
Not the tired, overwhelmed mom who always said yes.
But the soft, blooming woman who chose herself, over and over again.
Pen & Pause: Journal Prompts
Take a moment for yourself. Put pen to paper and let your spirit speak.
What version of self-care would have saved the younger you?
What does nourishment look like in your life right now — beyond food?
What are you modeling for the people who watch you the most?
Reading Nugget: For the Soft-Life Soul Work
“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”
— Audre Lorde
If this reflection resonated with you, let it guide you deeper. This week, I’m revisiting:
“Sister Outsider” by Audre Lorde
A collection of essays that explores identity, motherhood, power, and the deep necessity of self-care as resistance. Lorde reminds us that tending to ourselves isn’t optional. It’s survival.
Curl up with this one. Highlight it. Re-read it. Let it anchor you.
Soft Life Soundtrack
Set the mood. Let the music hold you.
“Cranes in the Sky” – Solange
“Things You Say” – Cleo Sol
“Video” – India.Arie
“Todo Tiene Su Final” – Héctor Lavoe
Each one a small, sonic prayer. A reminder that you deserve to feel whole.
Bio
Angel Jae’ is a lifestyle + wellness writer, mama of three, and founder of Nurtured Notes, a soft life space for women rewriting what strength looks like. She believes in slow mornings, deep healing, and being unapologetic yourself. You can find her journaling with incense, fighting the urge to overthink, and learning to choose herself daily.
Words bloom best with coffee (or tea!). Help me water the garden. [Buy me a cup here.]
Lovely post—thank you for the reminders and encouragement to feed our renewal with sweet experiences and calming time.
Yes to all this, Yes!
“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”
— Audre Lorde
Favorite quote of hers..