The Opening and Closing Shifts: How I Tricked Myself Into Actually Loving My Routines

Look, I'm not the type of person who gets religious about much—I can barely commit to a Netflix series, let alone a morning meditation practice. But somehow, my daily routines have become my personal gospel, and I'm here for it. I recently started calling them my "opening and closing shifts" on TikTok (because everything needs a catchy name these days), and treating them like actual work shifts has been a complete game-changer.

I know what you're thinking: "Great, another person telling me to wake up at 5 AM and drink celery juice." But hear me out. This isn't about becoming one of those people who posts sunrise yoga photos with inspirational quotes in Comic Sans. This is about finally cracking the code on why routines fail for most of us—and how a simple mental reframe can make folding laundry feel like a spa day.

Why "Shifts" Work When Regular Routines Don't

The problem with most routines is that they feel like homework assigned by the wellness industrial complex. You know the drill: wake up, meditate, journal three pages of gratitude, drink lemon water, do 50 push-ups, and somehow also look like you stepped out of a Goop catalog. No wonder we burn out faster than a phone battery on 2%.

But when I started thinking of my routines as shifts—like I was clocking in and out of different versions of myself—everything changed. Suddenly, I wasn't a person failing at self-care; I was an employee of my own life, and these tasks were just part of my job description. And you know what? I'm really good at my job.

There's something almost magical about this mindset shift. It removes the emotional baggage of "should" and replaces it with the neutral professionalism of "this is what needs to get done." Plus, it gives you permission to clock out, which is revolutionary for those of us who think self-improvement is a 24/7 gig.

The Opening Shift: Setting the Stage for Success

My opening shift starts before I even attempt to be a functioning human. I wake up slowly—and I mean glacially slow, like a sloth discovering consciousness. The first order of business? Mandatory cat cuddles. My cats have somehow appointed themselves as my personal alarm clock committee, and honestly, they're more effective than any meditation app. There's something about a purring furball that makes the transition from unconscious blob to actual person feel less traumatic.

The soft lighting comes on next (harsh overhead lights are banned until at least 10 AM in my house), followed by music that doesn't assault my barely-awake brain cells. Then I shuffle to the bathroom like a very dignified zombie and brush my teeth, because morning breath waits for no one.

The skincare routine is where I really lean into the professional spa employee fantasy. I'm not just washing my face; I'm providing five-star service to my pores. Each step gets the full treatment, like I'm prepping for a close-up in a skincare commercial where I'll inevitably touch my face and look surprised by how smooth it is.

Here's where most people would make coffee and call it a morning, but I've learned that future-me has opinions about what she finds when she gets home. So I put away the dishes from yesterday (past-me was clearly tired), fold whatever laundry has been living in the "clean but homeless" pile, and generally tidy up like I'm expecting a surprise visit from someone whose opinion I care about. Which, let's be honest, is just me at the end of the day.

Coffee and a light breakfast happen next, but not before I sit down with my daily planner and a journal prompt. This isn't some profound soul-searching exercise—it's more like having a staff meeting with myself. What's on the agenda? What's the vibe we're going for today? Are we feeling ambitious or are we in survival mode? It's important to set realistic expectations with your employees, even when that employee is you.

Then comes the workout outfit—because apparently getting dressed twice in one morning is now part of my job description. I work out, shower (revolutionary concept), and then begins the real performance: getting dressed and doing makeup. Even if the rest of the day is mostly me sitting at a desk, I want to look like someone who has their life together.

The Closing Shift: Clocking Out in Style

Here's where the magic really happens, and by magic I mean the part where I transform from a functional human being into someone who definitely has their life together (or at least looks like it on the outside). The closing shift is all about setting future-me up for success, which is basically the ultimate act of self-love.

First, I channel my inner restaurant manager and clean up from dinner. Every dish gets washed, the kitchen gets wiped down, and I start a load of laundry because apparently I generate an impossible amount of dirty clothes,linens, and random things that need to be washed for one person. The key is putting on music and pretending I'm closing down the most exclusive bistro in town. Suddenly, scrubbing pasta sauce off plates feels less like drudgery and more like performance art.

Once the kitchen is pristine (or at least no longer a biohazard), I give myself permission to actually relax. This usually involves curling up with a book or finding something mindless to watch—the kind of show where attractive people have problems that can be solved in 42 minutes. This is sacred decompression time.

Then comes the real ceremony: nighttime skincare and body oil. I'm not just moisturizing; I'm conducting a very important debriefing with my skin about how we performed today. The body oil isn't just hydration—it's like putting on armor for tomorrow, except the armor smells like lavender and makes me feel like a wellness influencer who actually has her life together.

The lighting gets softer (because harsh bathroom lights are the enemy of self-love), the music switches to something that won't overstimulate my already-fried brain, and I do a final sweep of the day's damage. Clothes go in the hamper, tomorrow's outfit gets selected like I'm styling for a very important meeting (even if that meeting is just me and my laptop), and I take my vitamins and anxiety medication because as Pete Davidson said, “theres no shame in the medication game.”

The grand finale involves cuticle oil and hand lotion—because apparently I've become the kind of person who cares about cuticle health—followed by sipping tea while reading a few pages of whatever book is currently trying to make me smarter or at least more interesting at dinner parties.

The Psychology Behind the Performance

There's actual science behind why this works, and it's not just because I have an overactive imagination. When you reframe routine tasks as professional responsibilities, you tap into a different part of your brain—the part that shows up to work even when you don't feel like it.

We're remarkably good at compartmentalizing our professional lives. You don't skip meetings because you're "not in the mood" or leave projects half-finished because you got distracted by Instagram. You just do the job. Applying this same mindset to personal care removes the emotional resistance that usually derails our best intentions.

Plus, there's something deeply satisfying about "completing your shift." You get that same sense of accomplishment you feel when you finish a work project, except the project is you, and the deadline is every single day.

Making It Your Own

The beauty of the shift mentality is that it's completely customizable. Maybe your opening shift is all about movement—yoga, dancing to Taylor Swift, or just doing jumping jacks in your underwear. Maybe your closing shift involves reading, planning tomorrow, or having a proper conversation with your houseplants.

The only rules are that it has to feel manageable and it has to serve you. This isn't about performing productivity for Instagram; it's about creating a framework that makes you feel more like the person you want to be.

Start small. Pick three things for your opening shift and three for your closing shift. Treat them like non-negotiables, not suggestions. Give yourself permission to be a little dramatic about it—put on music, use the fancy soap, pretend you're being filmed for a very chic documentary about your life.

The Plot Twist: It Actually Works

Here's what nobody tells you about taking your routines seriously: you start taking yourself seriously too. When you show up for yourself consistently, even in small ways, you begin to trust that you're someone worth showing up for. It's like a positive feedback loop, except instead of spiraling into anxiety, you're spiraling into self-respect.

I've become the kind of person who has clean sheets and exfoliated elbows. I wake up in a room that doesn't look like a crime scene, and I go to bed feeling like I've properly closed out the day instead of just collapsing into unconsciousness. These might sound like small wins, but small wins compound into big changes.

The best part? When you treat your routines like a job you're actually good at, you start to feel successful before you even leave the house. And that confidence carries over into everything else you do.

So maybe it's time to clock in to your own life. Your opening shift starts tomorrow morning.