Britain Asks For Self-Care

Self-Care Arrives Forty Years Late and Britain Asks to Speak to the Manager

Nation’s Most Emotionally Waterproof Adults Now Googling “How to Feel Feelings Without Putting Your Back Out”

A generation raised on three sacred commandments — finish your plate, never ring in sick, and if you’re crying, do it quietly in the shed — is being told, apparently without irony, that it must now “prioritise self-care.” This is the same cohort that worked through flu seasons, bereavements, and at least one structural collapse at the local Woolworths. They are not taking the news well. According to the World Health Organisation, burnout is now a formally recognised occupational syndrome — a sentence that would have caused widespread bafflement in any British staffroom circa 1987, where burnout was simply called “Monday.”

The confusion, it turns out, is measurable.

A survey conducted by the Institute for Advanced Suppression Studies found that 72 per cent of respondents over 55 believe “self-care” is either a yoghurt brand or something you do to your Ford Mondeo before its MOT. Another 19 per cent said it sounded “a bit much.” The remaining 9 per cent said nothing and made a cup of tea.

Derek Hutchinson, 64, of Rotherham, was raised to believe the only acceptable reason to miss work was “visible bleeding or a bank holiday that fell on a weekday.” When informed that his persistent exhaustion, irritability, and habit of staring vacantly at the recycling bins was technically a syndrome, he reportedly removed his reading glasses, set them on the table, and said: “We used to call that Wednesday.”

Raised on Grit, Now Served Herbal Tea and a Listening Circle

This is the generation that walked uphill both ways and didn’t complain, because complaining was considered a competitive sport entered only by people who hadn’t seen the war. Or hadn’t been told about it twice over Sunday lunch.

They were taught to eat everything on their plate, including boiled cabbage of indeterminate vintage and grey mince that tasted of mild regret. Fast-forward to the present, and nutritionists are advising them to “honour their hunger cues.” Hunger cues? Back then the only cue was your mum saying, “There are children starving in Africa.” And if you pushed back, she named them.

Dr. Linda Marsh, a licensed therapist and author of the bestselling self-help title Your Feelings Are Not a Flat Tyre, explains the contradiction with the patience of someone who has heard it many times.

“They were trained for endurance, not introspection,” Marsh said. “It’s like sending a fell runner to a sound bath and asking them to cry about their hamstrings.”

According to Marsh, many in this demographic approach therapy as though it were a performance appraisal. “They want bullet points, metrics, and a laminated certificate.” She has since introduced a strongly worded summary memo and a handshake at the end of each session.

The Sick Day That Dared Not Speak Its Name

Calling in sick used to require either active pneumonia, a note from a GP, or the kind of pallor that alarmed the postman. Today, mental health days are booked with the calm efficiency of a dentist appointment — and are only slightly less painful to explain to your line manager.

According to the CIPD, British workers took an average of 9.4 sick days in 2024 — the highest level recorded since 2010 — with mental ill health cited as the leading cause. HR departments now send cheerful internal emails encouraging staff to “rest and recharge.” This has reportedly triggered mild panic among older workers, who are convinced it is either a trap or a preliminary redundancy notice dressed in pastel language.

Janet Miller, 57, a retired council administrator from Coventry, said her supervisor once told her to “take care of yourself.” She immediately handed in a sick form and began drafting an appeal.

“In my day,” she explained, “if management cared about your feelings, it meant restructuring was coming. Or Keith from Procurement had complained again.”

Boundaries: No Longer Just Something You Argue About With the Neighbours

The concept of “boundaries” has also caused considerable bewilderment. For decades, boundaries were things you disputed with the council over a fence panel or half a metre of disputed path. Now they are emotional parameters you are expected to communicate in measured tones to people called Gavin.

Social media influencers routinely explain how to “set boundaries with toxic people.” This has left a substantial portion of the over-55s wondering when everyone became toxic. In 1991, nobody was toxic. They were difficult, they were exhausting, or they were your brother-in-law Trevor. But not toxic.

An anonymous retired foreman from the West Midlands commented: “If I’d tried setting boundaries at work, they’d have sent me home. Which, come to think of it, might have been the point.”

More than one in seven UK adults say their mental health is currently either bad or the worst it has ever been, which suggests either that the nation is in genuine crisis, or that everyone has finally been given permission to say what they were thinking all along.

Emotional Audits in Retirement: The Feelings That Filed a Formal Complaint

Retirement used to mean an allotment, a decent armchair, and a firm policy of not discussing anything that had happened between 1974 and 1989. Now, according to experts, it is an emotional reckoning requiring active processing, possibly several series of counselling, and a notebook.

Psychologists say that once the noise of work subsides, decades of suppressed feelings begin to surface like outstanding invoices from a contractor you thought had gone bust. Suddenly, forty years of “I’m fine, love” start filing formal complaints — with supporting documentation.

According to a survey by the National Centre for Overdue Feelings, 64 per cent of British retirees admit they are “thinking about things more than expected.” When asked to elaborate, 82 per cent changed the subject. The remaining 18 per cent asked if this was going to take long because Pointless started at five-fifteen.

When the Stiff Upper Lip Becomes a Health and Safety Concern

The most unsettling aspect of this cultural shift is being informed that the very habits which got you through — the stoicism, the soldiering on, the magnificent refusal to acknowledge that anything was wrong — may now be the problem. Mental health problems now account for a quarter of all NHS staff sick days, costing an estimated £2.1 billion a year — which would be alarming if the NHS weren’t also spending £217 million annually on antidepressants to keep the whole thing moving.

For years, pushing through was a badge of honour. Now wellness blogs describe it as “emotional avoidance” — a phrase that sounds considerably less heroic than “getting on with it,” despite meaning roughly the same thing.

“It’s like being told your old Vauxhall Cavalier was actually a design flaw,” said Derek, still contemplating his syndrome while reorganising the garage for the fifteenth time this month.

Yet psychologists maintain this is not a condemnation. It is, they insist, an upgrade.

“Self-care isn’t weakness,” Dr. Marsh says. “It’s maintenance.” She paused. “Think of it as a service interval for the soul.” Derek said he understood service intervals and would look into it when the weather improved.

Still, to a generation that equated silence with dignity, the prospect of discussing feelings openly feels roughly equivalent to being asked to karaoke your inner monologue at a works do in front of Karen from payroll.

What the Funny People Are Saying About the British Stiff Upper Lip

“Self-care in Britain means having a biscuit with your tea and not telling anyone how you really are.” — Lee Mack

“My dad’s version of mindfulness was staring at the football in complete silence. Turns out that was the most present he ever was.” — Peter Kay

“They said ‘take care of yourself.’ I said, ‘I’ve been doing that since 1987, it’s called not talking about it.'” — Victoria Wood

“Boundaries? I grew up in a semi-detached. The boundary was a wall you could hear through.” — Jack Dee

“My generation invented repression and we were very good at it. The waiting list for therapy is just proof it worked.” — Stewart Lee

“They gave us a helpline. I rang. Held for forty minutes, then got a recorded message telling me to try mindfulness. Very on-brand.” — Frankie Boyle

The Quiet Irony: They Were Already Doing It, Just Without the Branding

Here is the twist, and it is rather a good one: this generation is, in many respects, entirely competent at self-care. They simply call it something more sensible. Something that does not require a podcast series and a branded water bottle.

They garden with genuine purpose. They walk the dog in all weathers. They potter. They sit in quiet conservatories with a cup of something and think — not journal, not process, not unpack — think. They might not post affirmations on social media, but they have rituals, routines, and an unshakeable commitment to doing the same thing at the same time every Sunday.

The contradiction is not that they cannot look after themselves. It is that the language changed without anyone providing a translation guide. One day “having a lie-in” was laziness; the next it was “restorative rest.” Same bed. Different vocabulary. Considerably more expensive duvet.

Finishing your plate taught discipline. Never ringing in sick taught responsibility. Pushing through built endurance. But as UK health researchers now note, mental health absences typically last two weeks — far longer than any other kind of sick leave — which rather suggests that endurance without rest is simply erosion with better posture.

And perhaps the real comedy is in watching a nation attempt to retrofit wellness culture onto a population that has been quietly managing perfectly well, thank you, with a shed, a thermos, and the unspoken agreement that some things simply did not need discussing.

In the end, it is not a story about weakness versus strength. It is a story about translation. One generation speaks fluent perseverance. The next speaks fluent processing. Somewhere in between is a sensible middle ground where you can finish your tea, take Tuesday afternoon off, and perhaps admit — quietly, to no one in particular — that the boiled cabbage was, in fact, genuinely terrible.

Derek, for his part, has decided to try this self-care business. He has scheduled his first “mental health afternoon.” He plans to sit in his recliner, not fix anything, and not explain himself to anyone.

Which is, honestly, progress. Or at the very minimum, a very promising start for a man who once drove himself to A&E with a suspected fracture and apologised to the nurse for wasting her time.

Auf Wiedersehen, amigo!

Self-Care Arrives 40 Years Late