There’s this idea floating around that self-care has to be soft.
Candles.
Herbal tea.
Calm playlists.
Books that feel like a warm hug.
And then there’s me - reading dark romance at midnight, emotionally unstable, fully aware that everyone involved is a walking red flag… and somehow feeling better because of it.
According to the internet, that’s “not healthy.”
But here’s the thing:
who decided that care has to be gentle?
Sometimes self-care isn’t calm. Sometimes it’s release.
Not every emotional state needs soothing.
Sometimes it needs somewhere to go.
Dark romance, morally grey characters, obsession, control, power imbalance, emotional chaos - these aren’t relationship goals.
They’re containers.
Safe ones.
Stories where intense emotions are allowed to exist without leaking into real life.
Where you can explore darkness without living inside it.
That’s not damage.
That’s regulation.
We read chaos so we don’t carry it.
When you’ve been holding yourself together all day - being reasonable, controlled, functional - “healthy” stories can feel… insufficient.
They don’t touch what’s actually buzzing under your skin.
Dark books do.
They go where we don’t let ourselves go out loud.
They give shape to thoughts we don’t act on.
They let emotions move instead of stagnate.
Reading something intense doesn’t mean you want it.
Often it means you need to understand it.
Toxic in fiction is not the same as toxic in real life.
Readers know this.
We’re not confused.
Reading about manipulation doesn’t mean we endorse it.
Reading about control doesn’t mean we crave it.
Reading about obsession doesn’t mean we want to live in it.
Fiction is where we examine dangerous dynamics without being harmed by them.
That distinction matters.
Dark romance is emotional simulation - not instruction.
Books do something real life rarely allows:
they let us press pause.
You enter the chaos.
You feel it fully.
And then you close the book.
No consequences.
No lasting damage.
No trauma.
That’s not recklessness.
That’s controlled exposure.
A way to experience intensity without sacrificing your safety.
Sometimes self-care is not pretending you’re fine.
Not every phase of life wants softness.
Not every night wants comfort.
Some nights want truth.
Some want intensity.
Some want to feel something, anything.
If a book does that for you - even if it’s dark, messy, uncomfortable - that’s still care.
Not because it’s pleasant.
But because it’s honest.
Reading heals not because of the themes, but because of permission.
Permission to feel.
Permission to explore.
Permission to look at the darker corners without getting lost in them.
That’s why books can be healing even when they’re brutal.
They don’t tell you who to be.
They don’t demand purity or balance.
They simply say:
You can feel all of this and still be whole.
The truth readers already know
Reading isn’t escape.
It’s regulation.
Of emotion.
Of tension.
Of everything we keep contained so we can function.
And if your version of self-care includes dark romance, morally grey men, questionable decisions, and a temporarily fried nervous system…
That doesn’t make you unhealthy.
It makes you self-aware.
