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January is rearing its perky, crunchy, healthy little head. That means we are contractually obligated to improve -- the worst assignment.

I'm not a huge self-improvement person, not because I don't want to improve, but because I assume everything is a grift. It's rare I get through a self-help book without switching to some literary novel about a sarcastic woman with functional depression.

But this year, I fell prey to the Oprah Cinematic Universe. I've preordered Mel Robbins' new book, "The Let Them Theory," intrigued by its premise of letting people just... do what they want. It sounds tempting? Liberating? We'll see how far I get before switching to an opposites attract rom-com about a flustered British woman.

Ceding control appeals not only in the realm of interpersonal relationships, but also in the pursuit of perfect aesthetics propped up by a specious, greedy, $6 trillion wellness industry. Going online in January is like visiting a dysmorphic fun house where everyone has a tincture to sell.

Tell me if this sounds familiar:

Since society expects women to stop aging at age 22, our algorithm becomes more treacherous annually. Pick your fighter: keto, paleo, Pilates, barre, intermittent fasting, kickboxing, yoga performed in a fire. If we're not too girthy from, you know, eating, our puffy faces and excess belly fat are due to high cortisol. We must promote lymphatic drainage with a $500 nanoelectrical device coupled with adaptogen supplements promoted by a TikTok seller with a neck tattoo.

But wait. Maybe it's not the cortisol. Maybe dopamine addiction is making us miserable and hideous. Or maybe it's a hormonal imbalance. Maybe it's wine. Maybe it's our lack of 10,000 steps. Maybe we need a walking pad, a mail-order blood test, a new therapist and Dry January replacement drinks with microdosed mushrooms at $12 per mini can.

Before we know it, it's 2 a.m. Face aglow in the blue light of Reddit, we have self-diagnosed a combination of Cushing's syndrome, gluten intolerance, osteoporosis and Squiditis, previously a fictional disease featured on "SpongeBob SquarePants." We calculate that a potion of curcumin, collagen, CoQ10 and vitamin C will transform us back into an attractive fetus state. Well, that and chin lipo, which is reasonable at $7,000 when you think about it.

With our bodily hotness accounted for, we must then eliminate plastic cutting boards and utensils and all things with chemicals and microplastics, which, upon a quick inventory of the house... yep, it's everything. Cool! Great! No reason to panic! We must throw away our scented candles and aluminum foil and switch to natural deodorant, which we will use for two days before deciding the musk does not outweigh the calculated risk of antiperspirant.

We remind ourselves to be smart, read reputable sources and fight misinformation before hitting "add to cart." We side-eye the Robert F. Kennedy people skeptical of fluoride, out here drinking raw milk like Louis Pasteur never existed. We scrutinize the potential Department of Health and Woo Services, deciding that bird flu is a bridge too far. Now (3 a.m.) we vow to cut out the noise, to get back to a healthy life of moderation, joyful movement, grateful aging and diligent fact-checking, all while Googling "nicotinamide adenine dinucleotide NAD reverse aging Joe Rogan scam?" Then, boom, bam, sleep.

This brings me back to the last advice-adjacent book I read. I plucked "Untamed" by Glennon Doyle from a free library a couple years ago. It smelled like patchouli and had handwritten margin notes until page 53, when it appears the previous owner dropped off; relatable!

This book includes one of my favorite lines, though, words I have employed umpteen times since first glimpsing them in these spicy free pages. Doyle tells the story of a former fan who confronted her. She didn't like how Doyle had changed, and she stopped following her.

"Okay," Doyle replied. "Sounds like you made the right choice for you."

Words to live by this and every month when someone on the next treadmill starts talking about bee venom therapy.

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Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on X or @stephrhayes on Instagram.

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