On Holding More Than One Truth: Personal Contradiction in Wellness Culture

(and being a yoga teacher trainee who loves a Diet Coke and thinks a lot about botox)

I, and most people who know me, would probably describe me as crunchy. Earthy. Hippie.

I’m a yoga teacher in training, and one who cares far more about the philosophy of the practice than the perfection of the poses. I truly believe my Scorpio placements say a lot about me as a person. I spend all my free time outdoors. I haven’t had a coffee in four years and drink matcha like it’s a religion. I listen to the seasons, allow space for ritual, and trust my intuition. I manifest. I slather my pits with fussy deodorant. I journal. I have an altar. I love herbal teas, cacao, candles, slow mornings, and listening to my body.

All of that exists within me - intrinsically, and to my core.

And yet.

I’m also politically aware. I care deeply about human rights. I read the news. I can debate the wrongs of far-right politics with anyone who wants to try me. I trust science. I trust vaccines. I use dermatologist-formulated skincare because my acne-prone skin needs it. I apply SPF religiously. I use Bluetooth headphones and the microwave. I take my antidepressants every day. I pick up processed protein bars. And I genuinely love a Diet Coke.

For the longest time, I’ve felt friction between these truths inside me. As if I had to explain myself. As if I had to pick a side.

In many wellness, yoga, and healing circles, there’s an unspoken foundation: natural over synthetic, ancient over modern, intuition over evidence. And with all of these quiet rules in place, wellness starts to feel… tight.

You can be spiritual or science-literate. You can be earthy or politically informed. You can be intuitive or critical.

But I am all of these things and more. I contradict. I flow between states. And wellness culture has often made me feel wrong for that.

I was talking to someone recently who told me they’d come off their antidepressants because they “weren’t natural” and they didn’t want to keep “putting crap into their body.” As someone who came off the contraceptive pill after ten years on it, I understand the impulse behind that thinking. But the same person then told me that since stopping citalopram, they were suffering deeply, barely coping with day-to-day life, drowning in their depression. I asked them whether it might be better to take a serotonin-boosting drug, specifically formulated to help them function, rather than suffer intensely just to be “natural.”

I believe deeply in sunshine, fresh air, movement, nutrition, all of the things we might label as natural, and I know they can improve wellbeing tremendously. But I also know that me without my antidepressants is not something I ever want to experience again. So I do my yoga, I get my steps in, I sage my space, I eat my apple a day… and I trust modern medicine. I take those magic pills.

I contradict and disagree with myself elsewhere too. I have a film degree and engage deeply with cinema, I curate my Letterboxd like it’s a full-time job, but I also limit my screen time with app blockers, and only let Atlas watch TV if it’s been a really tough parenting day or he’s feeling genuinely unwell.

If you know me, you’ll also know I run, a lot. And from the outside, it probably looks gruelling, taxing, even like torture. But running makes me feel good. I train for races, push myself a little further than I want to on the hard days, and still manage to listen to my body. I regulate pace and cadence through breathwork, connect to my body in motion, and find joy and healing in what has traditionally been a male-dominated, performance-driven activity. I make running mindful. I make it freeing. I make it beautiful. I can do hard things and still be “well” in my mind.

I’m also considering Botox.

I know.

But at the ripe age of twenty-eight, with a wedding approaching and a toddler who exhausts me with his energy, I’d simply like to look a little softer. A little less permanently angry at the world. I want to look as young as I feel.

Am I happy to age naturally? Yes.

Do I think beauty standards for women are ridiculous? Also yes.

Do I think wrinkled, natural, sun-soaked women are beautiful? Absolutely.

But if I had the opportunity to feel my best - why wouldn’t I consider it?

There’s also something important that needs naming. Parts of wellness culture can quietly slip into right-wing thinking, “the world’s gone mad” ideologies, conspiracy culture, and control, particularly in motherhood spaces. That doesn’t mean everyone who loves herbal remedies or homeschools their children is heading down that path. But it does mean we need discernment. Raising children with knowledge of the whole world, not fear of it. Allowing science to coexist with whimsy. Recognising that when wellness tells you the world is inherently dangerous, institutions are always lying, and you must opt out to be safe or “awake”, that isn’t empowerment. It’s isolation. And isolation can be oppressive.

What I’m really coming to terms with is this: maybe “contradiction” isn’t the right word at all. Instead, I believe that I am a beautiful mishmash of mindfulness and drive, gentility and desire, science and skepticism, ancient wisdom and new discovery, softness and strength. And none of these choices cancel each other out.

I don’t want wellness culture, or stepping into a role as a yoga teacher, or raising a child who connects deeply with the earth, to pigeonhole me or make me feel claustrophobic. There is too much beauty and texture in choice. In learning. In trying things. In forming our own opinions and making our own decisions.

So what I’m now choosing to believe is this:

You’re allowed to contradict yourself.
You’re allowed to integrate.
You’re allowed to change your mind.
You can light a candle and read the news.
You can get intentionally lost in the woods and raise your voice for human rights.
You can honour your body and use modern tools.
You can reject purity without rejecting meaning.
Wellness doesn’t have to be aesthetic.
Spirituality doesn’t have to be anti-intellectual.
And healing doesn’t require you to abandon your agency.

The version of wellness I choose is relational, flexible, and kind. It asks me to enquire - within myself and around me.

And within that, there is room for vinyasa flow, Diet Coke, cold plunges in the sea, Bluetooth bone-conducting headphones blasting ABBA remixes on race day, barefoot grounding in the garden, a cartoon with my toddler on a slow Sunday, contradiction, pleasure, and imperfection.