Recently I had a very interesting conversation with someone who wrote me a very life changing email when I first got diagnosed. She said her bedside table was bare, save for a very chic dish (Simon Pearce, Heart Shaped) and the ongoing and somewhat obsessive voyeurism with which I solicit pictures of other people’s bedside tables had peaked her interest. Did I wash my face and then do my skincare in bed? (Sometimes - and sometimes I don’t even wash my face I just cleanse with micellar water, also in bed.)

My own response to her was a bit of a revelation. I’ve already talked extensively about how my skincare routine is essential to my self-care. Not just because of the actives and results - because the act of massaging your face, prone or otherwise, is the purest moment of self-care in my day. I am giving myself the gift of a loving, gentle touch. I am thanking my face for the hard work it does for me every single day. 

Self-care has become enough of a buzz word to garner the negative backlash of anything that becomes so widely used. It’s an easy target. It’s potential to be distorted is not lost on me. It’s manifestation as widely varied and beautiful as flowers. 

The bedside table for me is especially significant because it is prime real estate when I am at my most vulnerable (too sick to get out of bed) but also my most comfortable (I love my bed!) I spend more time in it than most people you know.  

I want to see your “Shelfie” because I want to know if I’m missing anything. If there’s something that lives in this world for other people, that would improve my world. In fact, I blame all of you for my expensive candle habit, but also, God bless you because they bring me so much joy. 

There is also the pure practical necessity of a bedside table. I live in a desert. I wake up every morning with lips that survived some kind of biblical sandstorm. Since nighttime is when we best absorb and heal, this is where the good stuff lives for those purposes. The oils, candles, balms, cremes, mists that are maybe more prized than that now infamous top shelf. The things you reach for in the night to soothe you. The pretty ones you want to fall asleep looking at (in fact I have repurposed my summer straw bag as a catchall for the things that don’t aesthetically please me - the pillboxes, the wire chargers, the ugly labels. Do you guys want to see what’s in that?) But I digress. The photographed bedside table is a little curated slice of paradise. And if I have learned nothing from my people on the internet, my “squad”, it is that every single one of you has something to teach me. 

So thank you to all of you who share this very personal and intimate thing with me (and if you want to send to it to me but not the internet, I will totally keep it between us. Just tell me!) I hope that like my friend, I will inspire you to stock and curate this treasured space - I can't wait to see them all. (Ans if you want to see some highlights, you can find it on my IG Profile in the highlights!)