Crying in the Public Bathroom Counts as Self-Care, Right?

I mean… it should.

Because sometimes the only quiet place you can find is the third stall at Starbucks with the broken lock and questionable lighting.

We don’t always get to pick when the breakdown happens. It’s not always a soft blanket, journal, and lavender candle situation. Sometimes self-care looks like crying quietly in a bathroom stall during your lunch break, wiping your tears with one-ply toilet paper, and giving yourself a pep talk in the mirror like, “We’re not thriving, but we’re surviving.”

And honestly? That still counts.

Because showing up for yourself—even in the ugliest, messiest, mascara-smudged moments, is still care.

So if you’ve ever cried in a public restroom and then went back out into the world pretending everything’s fine with red eyes and a forced smile… you’re not alone. You’re just human.

And in this economy? That’s basically a wellness practice.

I can count the numerous times I cried in public bathrooms, thinking and feeling like my world is ending, and in that moment it really was ending. But do you know the best part of that? Is I always walked out, chin up, shoulders back and took a deep breath and got through it until the next sob slipped in. 

These moments aren’t always planned. Well they are never planned actually. We don’t choose when life hits. Sometimes it’s during your work shift. Sometimes it’s between meetings. Sometimes it’s in the middle of a date when your brain decides, “Hey, let’s unpack everything right now.”

And so we go straight to the nearest public bathroom.

The safe space for the emotionally overwhelmed.

The sanctuary of “I just need a second.”

The cathedral of “pull it together, girl.”

And listen, if you’ve ever sat there, quietly breaking down, with your feet pulled up so no one could see your shoes, I see you. You’re doing the best you can.

Honestly, we need to stop glamorizing self-care as this cute, Instagrammable moment.

Because real self-care?

It’s messy.

It’s crying at work and still finishing the day.

It’s texting “I’m fine” when you’re anything but, just so you don’t have to explain. That’s the problem is we text saying I’m fine, and we hide in public restrooms hiding our emotions. What if we cried right in the middle of Starbucks showing everyone our true selves? That’s vulnerability to its finest. And that’s beautiful. Hot. Sexy. 

It’s feeling like a disaster, but still brushing your hair and leaving the house. Well what if you didn’t brush your hair and left showing people your just not okay today? 

Sometimes self-care is just getting through the day; even if part of that day is spent having a silent breakdown in a public bathroom.

And guess what? That STILL counts.

If you left that stall, washed your face, and kept going, you are a f*cking champion. You are brave. And you are not alone. Because I’ve done it. Because apparently, that’s where I had my breakdown yesterday.

I’m running around, barely holding it together. My to-do list is longer than my patience, I’m emotionally maxed out, and I haven’t had a real meal in like… two days? Coffee doesn’t count. (Even though I’ve had three.)

I’m out in public, trying to act normal; fake smiles, polite conversations, pretending like I’m fine when in reality my brain is SCREAMING. I was standing there, alone with my thoughts, and it all just hit me.

I started thinking about this past year—everything I’ve pushed through. The pressure I’m under right now in my career feels like it’s sitting directly on my chest. Like I’m being watched, measured, and expected to deliver more when I already feel like I’m giving everything I’ve got.

Then came the echo of voices, family members who don’t really understand what I do. Their comments sting, even when I try to brush them off. It’s hard to chase your dreams when some of the people closest to you don’t fully believe in them. Or in you.

And then, my health.

This year has been a rollercoaster; doctor visits, scary symptoms, unanswered questions. I’m still in the thick of it, still navigating it all with one hand while juggling everything else with the other.

No clarity. No real break.

Financial stress? That’s its own monster.

It creeps in at night, right when you’re trying to sleep.

The kind of stress that makes you feel like you’re running on a treadmill that keeps speeding up while the floor disappears underneath you.

And in that moment, I couldn’t stop the tears.

Everything just… crashed in.

And then it hits.

That lump in your throat.

The “oh no, we’re not doing this right now” moment.

So I bolt.

I grab my bag, power-walk to the nearest public bathroom like I’m on a mission from God, and lock myself in a stall.

And I just lost it.

Like a full silent cry. The kind where the tears are hot, your chest feels tight, and all you can think is “What is actually wrong with me??”

But also… I felt better after.

Maybe not fixed. But lighter.

Because honestly, I needed that moment.

I needed to not be strong for five minutes.

I needed to fall apart somewhere, even if it was in a bathroom that smelled vaguely like lemon cleaner and broken dreams.

And after I cried, I did what we all do… I took a breath, splashed cold water on my face, gave myself the “you got this” look in the mirror, and went back out like nothing happened. Red eyes and all.

That was my self-care yesterday. Not cute. Not aesthetic. But real.

So yeah. Crying in the public bathroom?

It counts.

Because sometimes surviving the day is the most badass, beautiful thing you can do.

Until next time,

Cry if you need to, laugh if you can, and never stop showing up — even if all you did today was survive.

With love,

 Brittany

 The Mental Health Girl