Self-Care Rituals
An invitation to explore small rituals of everyday care—and remember the “u” in ritual. You matter.
I learned the art of a foot soak at my father’s feet. A personal story, a simple ritual, and an invitation to give yourself ten minutes of care.
Self-Care Rituals
An invitation to explore small rituals of everyday care—and remember the “u” in ritual. You matter.

My dad had big, gnarly, dry feet. They were ugly, no two ways about it.
And as he got older, they became uglier. And drier.
They also became harder to care for. For him, for my mother, and for me.
Age, arthritis, medications, and years of hard work on construction sites had taken their toll. His doctor recommended foot soaks, gentle exfoliation, and deep moisturizing. And so, ugly feet aside, I learned a lot about the art of a good foot soak.
I didn’t learn it from a spa or a self-care book. I learned it at my father’s feet.
My father was a proud man. He did NOT want his wife or his daughter giving him a bath of any sort. But he loved us. And, despite his objections, he loved a good foot soak.
There was quite a bit of drama involved in setting up the foot bath.
Getting him to sit down. Convincing him to let someone carry the basin of water to him. Finding the Epsom salts. Locating a clean pair of socks.
He had terrible arthritis in his hips, and sometimes it was difficult for him to lift a foot high enough to get it into the water.
But I’ll tell you something: aside from my father’s pride, we all agreed this was important stuff.

Dad and the infamous duck slippers. Someone’s Christmas solution to covering those big, gnarly feet. He was a good sport.
I remember sitting on the floor beside his feet, waiting for him to stop making silly remarks—because he always made jokes!—and just let me help.
Meanwhile, my mother would be worrying away.
“Let me do it.”
“Is the water warm enough?”
“Are you cold? Do you want a blanket?”
I probably wasn’t the most patient person every time we performed this little ritual. But looking back, I know we all felt better when it was over.
There was something humbling about sitting at my father’s feet, trying not to argue with him, drying each foot with a soft towel, and slathering on moisturizer. Then there was the business of carrying the basin away and tidying everything up while he sat and watched.
More jokes would follow. Usually something about how I’d done a terrible job, missed a toe, or spilled water everywhere.
Never mean-spirited. Never.
Today, I can still picture him sitting comfortably in his recliner, feet up, flannel shirt on, one hand tucked between the buttons, snoring.
Those feet—and the man at the end of them—deserved every bit of love and attention they received.
An evening foot soak may very well leave you snoring, too. Or at least heavy-lidded and ready to slip into bed.
There’s something about dipping your feet into warm water. Lower them a little farther until the water covers their tops and laps around your ankles.
Let your feet settle.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
For some of us, the muscles in our feet seem to unclench, and the feeling of relaxation travels all the way up to our shoulders.
My favorite part? Once your feet are in the water, you’re pretty much glued to the spot.
You can’t exactly fold laundry or run around the house taking care of everyone else. For ten whole minutes, multitasking is beside the point.
Maybe some music. A candle. An eye pillow, if that’s your thing.
Or just a few quiet minutes with yourself.
My dad had a fancy electric foot bath. You know what he never did? Plug it in.
You can buy all the gadgets you want, but you really don’t need them. A sturdy, easy-to-clean basin—or a small collapsible dishpan—will do just fine.
You’ll need roughly one to two gallons of water, depending on the size of your basin and your feet. Just enough to cover your feet comfortably.
Here’s how I set things up:
If this is your last stop before bed, you might want to put your pajamas on first. There’s something lovely about finishing your foot soak and slipping straight into bed.
But you do you. Remember, it’s an art, not a science!
1. Soak.
Lower your feet into the comfortably warm water. Let them settle, and give yourself about ten minutes.
Feel the warmth around your toes, your arches, your ankles.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
There’s nothing you need to accomplish while you’re here.
2. Gently exfoliate.
Lift one foot from the water. After ten minutes of soaking, your skin is beautifully softened. You don’t even need a heavy scrub or a loofah—a gentle buff with your dry towel will naturally sweep away those loosened, dead skin cells, especially around your heels.
Take your time. You’re caring for your feet, not sanding a piece of furniture. Avoid scrubbing cracked, irritated, or broken skin.
Repeat with the other foot.
3. Rinse and dry.
Have a little clean water nearby to rinse away any soap, then dry your feet thoroughly.
Let me repeat that: dry your feet thoroughly.
Pay special attention to each toe, between your toes, and underneath them.
Then wrap one dry foot in your soft towel. Give it a little sandwich hug. Hold it for a moment.
Repeat with the other foot.
Honestly, this might be my favorite part.
4. Moisturize.
Finish by applying a good moisturizer to your heels, soles, and any dry areas, while keeping the spaces between your toes dry.
While a lot of people reach for lotion, they are water-based and tend to evaporate pretty quickly. A balm made with beeswax and a mixture of oils is better for your feet. It creates a natural barrier that locks moisture in, keeps infection out, and stays on much longer.
At Backyard Bees, we love a good beeswax balm for exactly this reason. Take a moment to work it in, then slip on a clean pair of socks if you like.
That’s it. A short soak, a little attention, and two very grateful feet.
I always thought a foot bath was for old people.
Then the tables turned.
After I ran my first New York City Marathon, my mother made ME a foot bath. I was limping around the house, grimacing on the stairs. My quads were killing me, but she insisted I needed to soak my feet.
And that was it. I was sold.
Because I didn’t NEED to soak my feet. But somehow, I needed to soak my feet.
Understand?
The warm water wasn’t going to magically fix my tired quadriceps. I knew that. But it still felt good. It felt good to sit down, to stop moving, and to let someone care for me for a change.
Not everything has to be a cure-all. Not everything has to be a chore.
And not every ritual needs to be elaborate, expensive, or perfectly executed. Sometimes, all it takes is a basin of warm water and ten minutes you decide to give yourself.
I’m still figuring the art of self-care, but my feet? I’m getting real good at taking care of them.
They’re first on the list.
And I think my dad would approve.
A few Backyard Bees products you can use along the way:
Your feet don’t have to be beautiful to deserve care. For more on appreciating them, feeling comfortable showing them, and giving them the attention they deserve, read Ugly Feet Syndrome.
Small, everyday acts of care can give us a moment to pause and enjoy looking after ourselves. This article is part of our self-care series, The “U” in Ritual—an invitation to find a little room for you.