Let’s talk about something no one put on their vision board in January: curated nostalgia. It’s not just a vibe. It’s a survival mechanism. And it might just be the most underrated form of self-care we’ve got.

You see, I’ve been time-traveling lately—not via DeLorean, but through carefully selected memories. Not all of them. I’m not talking about the birthday party photos Drive keeps shoving in my face where I posed with people I now ghost harder than Casper. No, I’m talking about the smells, sounds, and snack choices that remind me of me. The real me. The Bronx-meets-bookworm-me. The Scooby-Doo-loving, Wonder-Twin-form-of-caffeine-me.

I’ve come to realize that self-care doesn’t always look like spa days or $17 smoothies. Sometimes it looks like putting on an old pair of fuzzy socks you’ve owned since Obama’s first term, listening to a 90s playlist heavy on Lauryn Hill, and rewatching a TV show you know will not betray you with a terrible ending (looking at you, Lost).

Curated nostalgia is saying: “Yes, I will wear this hoodie with the hole in the sleeve and eat the cheap cookies that taste like childhood because today I just need comfort with a side of sugar.” It’s the emotional equivalent of knowing exactly where the remote is—probably under the dog, but still, it’s within reach.

It’s also deeply empowering. Because when we get to choose which memories we revisit, we reclaim the narrative. We get to say: This moment matters. Not the one in the group photo with the person I haven’t spoken to since 2014. This one—where I danced alone in my kitchen or finally perfected that green curry recipe or laughed until I cried watching a bad rom-com. That’s the self I want to honor.

So go ahead, make yourself a playlist called “Warm Fuzzy Brain” and add only songs that make you feel like you’re invincible at a middle school dance. Light the candle that smells like your grandma’s living room. Watch reruns of that sitcom where everything wraps up in 22 minutes and no one’s existential dread is left unresolved.

Because curated nostalgia isn’t about living in the past. It’s about remembering what parts of the past made you feel most like yourself—and bringing them into your now.

And that is self-care at its finest.