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There’s a shelf in my bathroom I call the Museum of Good Intentions. It’s where things go when I buy them at 11pm, use them twice, and then forget they exist until I find a $48 serum I never opened.
This August I got ruthless.
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Take the free scorecard →I pulled everything out, made a pile of what I actually reached for in the last 30 days, and donated the rest. What survived surprised me. Almost none of it was what the algorithm told me to buy.
So here’s the actual Bel’s Edits for August. The things that made it to the counter, not the Museum.
The magnesium thing is real (I was the last to know)
I resisted magnesium glycinate for two years because it felt like wellness-influencer talk. Turns out half the things I thought were just being 40 (bad sleep, that 3pm brain fog) were a deficiency. I’ve been taking 400mg before bed for six weeks. I sleep through the night now. Six weeks ago I would have laughed at that sentence.
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The cleanser I actually like
I spent years using a face wash I bought because it was cheap and it was there. Then a friend handed me a sample of CeraVe’s hydrating cleanser and I used it and my face didn’t feel like a paper towel afterward. That’s it. That’s the whole review. I’m 40, I don’t have complicated skin needs, I have a complicated schedule. Simple wins.
Shop CeraVe Hydrating Cleanser on Amazon →
A book that got in my head
I’ve been rereading The Go-Giver this month. Yes, rereading. It came out in 2007 and I originally dismissed it as too soft. I was wrong. There’s a line about the Law of Compensation that stopped me mid-page:
Your income is determined by how many people you serve and how well you serve them.
I closed the book and stared at the ceiling for a solid four minutes thinking about my pricing. A $12 paperback that paid for itself in the first chapter.
The thing I’m not proud of but I stand by
Liquid IV.
I know. I know it’s everywhere. I know every fitness influencer on the planet has a code. I still don’t have a code for it. I’m just a regular customer who realized she was walking around dehydrated every afternoon wondering why she felt like a flat tire. One packet in a tall glass of water at 2pm and the 3pm slump doesn’t hit the same. If you’ve been skipping it because it feels basic, I’m giving you permission to try the basic thing.
The journal that made me buy a second one (then a third)
I’ve journaled since second grade. That’s not a cute detail, that’s my actual history. I’ve tried Moleskines and those pretty Target notebooks I felt too guilty to actually write in. This year I found a plain kraft-cover journal that’s cheap enough I don’t feel precious about it and sturdy enough it survives my bag. I’m on my third one this year. That’s the metric: did I finish it, or did it end up in the Museum?
I’ll admit the best thing I wrote in it last month was a number. The exact revenue I want to hit by December. Then I opened a spreadsheet and worked backward from it. Some people call that manifesting. I call it the plan.
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The one thing I bought that nobody else in this house cared about
A specific can opener.
Okay, hear me out. I’ve been using the pull-tab method on cans like a caveman for years because ours broke and I kept forgetting to replace it. My husband didn’t notice. My kids didn’t care. I finally bought a smooth-edge safety can opener from OXO and I want you to understand that I thought about it on my drive to school pickup. I was that pleased about it. Some wins are small. The small ones count.
Shop the OXO can opener on Amazon →
What I dropped this month
The $80/month wellness app I signed up for because the testimonials looked good. I used it for two weeks, then opened it this month and it told me I was in my “rest phase.” I’m a solo founder with four kids in August. I don’t have a rest phase. Deleted.
I also stopped adding powder collagen to my coffee every morning. I couldn’t taste a difference, and the science on whether it actually survives digestion is murkier than the packaging wants you to believe. I’m not anti-collagen. I’m pro-proof.
The through-line
Looking at what survived August, it’s all embarrassingly simple or something I reach for every single day without thinking. Not what’s trending or what the algorithm pushed at me. What I actually use.
My suggestion: pull everything out of your bathroom cabinet or supplement drawer. What did you actually touch in the last 30 days? Keep that. Donate the rest. The Museum of Good Intentions is a waste of counter space.
Xo, Belkis
