Early Morning Routines: Glorious Life Hack or Wellness Cult?

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I set my alarm for 5am thinking I’d gain clarity, productivity, and the smug satisfaction of tweeting “rise and grind” unironically. What I didn’t expect was to join what felt like a loose coalition of overly enthusiastic morning evangelists with a love of silence, cold showers, and life-altering smoothies. I just wanted to feel less like a gremlin. Instead, I found myself whispering affirmations to a houseplant named Sharon while sipping celery sludge and wondering when the ritual chanting would start.

Let me back up.

I’m not a morning person. I’ve spent most of my adult life having complex philosophical debates with my snooze button. The sun and I have a casual relationship, and nothing good has ever happened to me before 9am—except maybe hitting “cancel” on a 7am Zoom. But every productivity guru, wellness coach, and suspiciously glowy influencer swears by the early wake-up routine. So I thought, why not give it a shot? For one week, I’d be that person. The early riser. The go-getter. The person who says “I’ve already done yoga and journaled” while you’re still trying to open one eye.

Day One: I hate everything. My alarm sounds like betrayal. I get out of bed solely to prove to myself that I can. I drink warm lemon water because the internet said it would detox my soul. It mostly makes me resent citrus. I try meditating but fall asleep sitting up. By 8am, I’ve achieved nothing except intense self-loathing and a sticky tongue.

Day Two: I discover the “miracle morning” movement and realise I’ve entered a world with its own vocabulary—visualisation, breathwork, grounding. There are steps. Acronyms. There’s a book. I’m pretty sure there’s a doctrine. I half-expect someone to slide a pamphlet under my door.

Day Three: The endorphins start to kick in. I jog down the street like someone who knows what they’re doing. I wave at another jogger. He waves back with a nod that says, “Welcome to the tribe.” I feel like I’ve been initiated. Later, I light a candle and journal. I write “breathe” and then stare at the flame for 20 minutes wondering if I’ve unlocked enlightenment or just disassociated.

Day Four: I’ve developed a craving for green juice and validation. I start saying things like “you have to honour your mornings” and “sunrise is a metaphor.” Who am I? I schedule a sunrise walk. I cancel it. I walk anyway. A bird lands near me and I take it as a sign. A sign of what? No idea. But still—a sign.

Day Five: I’m fully converted. I text a friend to tell them they must try a 5am start. They respond with “who is this?” and “are you okay?” I forgive them. They don’t understand the journey. I light more candles. I chant a little. Not because I know how, but because it feels right.

Day Six: A stranger at the park compliments my aura. I don’t even know how to respond to that. I just say thank you and offer her a chia pudding recipe I found on a blog called “Awaken With Grace.” She smiles and says “namaste” like we’ve both survived something. I nod solemnly.

Day Seven: I realise this entire experiment may have spiralled. My wardrobe now includes linen. My screen time is down. My sense of self is up. I own two different herbal teas and know which one pairs best with self-reflection. But I also desperately miss sleeping in and not feeling guilty about it. I start to plan my exit strategy from the morning cult.

When Monday rolls around, I sleep until 8:30. It feels illegal and delicious. I don’t chant. I don’t juice. I wake up, brush my teeth, and sit with my coffee like an old friend. And you know what? I still feel good. Not because I mastered mornings, but because I tried something ridiculous, leaned into the weirdness, and made it out without buying a $300 sunrise lamp.

The moral? Early mornings aren’t magic. They’re just an option. For some people, they’re a key to focus and calm. For others, they’re a ticket to cranky silence and unearned guilt. You don’t need to wake up at dawn to have your life together. You don’t need to journal by candlelight to be spiritual. And you certainly don’t need to fast until 11am to earn your coffee.

You’re allowed to build a routine that works for you, whether that means yoga at sunrise or eating cereal at noon in yesterday’s shirt. Either way, you’re doing fine. And if you accidentally join a wellness cult in the process? At least you’ll have glowing skin and a decent smoothie recipe.