How Making My Bed Changed Everything

My grandma makes her bed every single day, without fail. When I was visiting, she’d stand up after breakfast and announce that she was going to make the bed. It was like an Olympic event (made even more so by the elaborate arrangement of pillows and perfectly smoothed corners of the quilt). 

I could never understand it. It’s just going to be messed up again in sixteen-ish hours, right? 

Then, one year while I was visiting, I asked her about it. 

“Why do you do that? Why does it matter?”

She looked at me and shrugged, “Because it makes me feel good when I come back to a beautiful bed.” 

What I’ve realized since then is that my grandma is a master of self-care. She was doing self-care before anyone even called it that. Making the bed was just a tiny part of that.

I went home and stared at my rumpled bed and finally started to understand.

The Day Everything Changed

I’d like to say I went home and immediately started making my bed, but that wouldn’t be the truth. Not right away, at least. 

If there’s one thing Shelby and I know, we sometimes need something to happen to shift us from comfortable to uncomfortable before change happens. For me, it was my dog rolling around in my sheets after rolling around in the dirt outside. 

Nope.

So I started making my bed the next day. Nothing intense—just pull everything straight and set the pillows right so the dogs can’t get in the sheets. But it was funny, because a few months later, I realized that the ritual had taken on a different meaning. 

When I came into my room at night (or for a mid-afternoon nap, as I love to do), I immediately felt more relaxed. It was like coming into a hotel after maid service was there, even though I knew I’d done it myself. 

And then, as I failed to do what I usually do and just give up on that little ritual one day and go back to the chaos of an unmade bed, I realized it went even deeper than that. 

What I Learned About Promises to Myself

Making my bed became the first promise I kept to myself in a very long time. Not a promise to lose twenty pounds or wake up at 5 AM or meditate for an hour. Just a promise to spend five minutes creating order in one small corner of my world. That’s all.

It wasn’t about making the bed. It was about the evidence that I was capable of change and that I could keep a promise to myself. Even a small one. 

Every morning when I pulled those sheets tight and arranged those pillows, I was gathering evidence that I was capable of follow-through. Evidence that I could commit to something and actually do it. And evidence that I was worthy of care.

The Ripple Effect

In the years since I started making my bed, strange things have continued to happen. I started putting my dishes away. I started clearing off the counter before bed so I could wake up to a clean kitchen and make my coffee in perfect peace. I started making time and space in my life for things like baths and exercise and reading. 

It wasn’t a set of rules. I’m a rebel, so rules don’t stick. It was a set of genuine acts of self-care and love. It felt right in so many ways. 

Making my bed didn't change my life because it's some magic productivity hack. It changed my life because it taught me that small acts of self-care can become evidence of my own worth. It taught me that I am capable of change, but starting small is what makes the real difference. 

Your Five-Minute Revolution

The thing I’m trying to say here is this: small acts are what signal big identity shifts. When we’re feeling misaligned, it can be so tempting to want to throw everything out and start over, or make some radical change that will feel good in the moment. 

But identity shifts come from the little signals we give ourselves first. I want you to think about what kind of signal you can give yourself. 

Maybe making your bed isn't your thing. Maybe your five-minute signal of self-worth looks different. Here's how to find yours:

Start stupidly small. We're talking two-to-five-minute actions. Not life overhauls. Not major habit stacks. Tiny things that send the signal "someone who cares was here” or “I’ve got this.”

Pick something visible. Choose something you'll encounter later in the day. Your future self needs to see the evidence. Remember, this is a signal to yourself that you’re “becoming.”

Make it yours. Maybe it's wiping down the bathroom counter. Making coffee the night before. Putting your keys in the same spot. Lighting a candle during lunch. The “what” doesn't matter. The why does.

Notice the feeling. Pay attention to that micro-moment when you encounter your own kindness later. That's the feeling of being worthy of care. That's the feeling of being someone who follows through.

Don't complicate it. The moment you start tracking it, gamifying it, or making it part of a bigger system, you've missed the point. This isn't about optimizing. It's about caring.

The Truth About Small Changes

My grandma makes her bed because she understands something I'm only learning now: how we treat ourselves in the small moments shapes how we show up in the big ones. And they compound over time as well, making us see ourselves differently. 

Every morning when you choose to do something kind for your future self (something that requires no one's approval, earns no external reward, serves no productivity goal), you're building evidence of your own worthiness.

You're proving to yourself that you're someone worth taking care of, and that your comfort matters. That you genuinely deserve to walk into something that makes you happy.

And once you believe that about yourself, everything else becomes possible.

So here’s my question for you: What small kindness will you do for yourself today? Not to become more productive or disciplined or optimized, but simply because you deserve to walk into something that makes you happy.