I am not good at self-care.

That's not to say that I'm not good at performingself-care. I will never turn down a chance to slap on a sheet mask, Instagram a dissolving bath bomb, and precariously balance my laptop on the closed toilet to hate-watch The Bachelor. Aside from my tendency to consume Flaming Hot Cheetos for breakfast, I'm pretty good at taking care of my body.

But when it comes to mental health, that all kind of goes out the window.

Relaxing isn't my forte. Whenever I attempt a "self-care" night, I find myself fidgeting in a tub of glittery bathwater, waiting for enough time to pass for me to be able to justify spending upwards of $8 on being pastel human soup. Meditation is exhausting — how are you supposed to empty your mind when there's so damn much to think about? And while I've become that person who lives in L.A.and got into the habit of daily yoga, I spend a lot of it anxiously planning out my day instead of paying attention to my breathing.

Which is where Lunarly's subscription box comes in. The self-care box's website advertises "learning the art of self-care," and a monthly subscription offers members a plant, a notebook and stickers, and a handful of curated "wellness products." Its mission is to encourage subscribers to "set intentions" as a way to live for mindfully.

Launched in the summer of 2018, Lunarly is the brainchild of BuzzFeed and Scotts Miracle-Gro. According to Bloomberg, the collaboration was an effort to advertise gardening to young people.

Basically, taking care of yourself — even if it's with the help of an aesthetically-curated marketing tactic — is in right now. But is paying $40 a month worth it?

The Sap Moon Box

Each box corresponds with the new moon; the Lunarly website says that at the beginning of the moon cycle, subscribers are supposed to set their intentions and figure out how to live better.

"The full moon marks the culmination of your chosen affirmation and is as crucial to intention setting as the new moon," the FAQ states.

I don't consider myself a crystal kind of person, but I can comfortably say I'm crystal-adjacent. By that, I mean that I own a salt lamp because I think it looks nice, I keep Co—Star notifications on, and I have perused the stands dotting the Pacific Coast Highway that sell sage bundles and mango boxes. While I appreciate the aesthetics of it all, I can't imagine taking any of it seriously.

But I'm willing to give it a try.

March's box corresponds to the "Sap Moon." A card included in the box says the moon was named for "the unfolding of the world beginning to melt and move," after sap from maple trees begins to flow. OK.

This month's box includes a spider plant, a bar of lemongrass sage soap, a bag of incense pyramids, a rock, the standard notebook and stickers, and a mushroom-ginger-green tea "drink."

The plant

Lunarly's plant was by far the biggest disappointment in the box, but that was mostly my fault — the box was delivered on a Friday when I was on vacation, and I didn't free the poor spider plant from its cardboard prison until Monday morning. By the time I finally gave it some water and fresh air, half of it was wilted.

This is what the plant is supposedto look like, according to images provided by Lunarly. Look at how lushmy plant could have been!

The spider plant perked up considerably after a few days in the sunlight on the ledge of my apartment's patio, and even made a new snail friend. I did really like that Lunarly sent a pet-safe plant — something my asshole cat (coincidentally named Lunar!) took advantage of the second I looked away.

Let this be a warning: If you're going to subscribe to Lunarly, open it RIGHT AWAY. I do wonder how the plants would survive being delivered in the middle of the summer or during a winter cold snap. Luckily Los Angeles is relatively temperate in late February/early March, so I'm pretty sure that if I had freed the plant the day it was delivered instead of letting it suffocate for a weekend, it would have looked less pathetic.

Incense cones

This month's box also included a full-size package of Reverse Karma Pyramid Incense Cones, which run for $8.95 for seven cones online. It was listed under "Restore" on the list of products that came with the box.

Lunarly's description said the cones' "dreamy scent, released with fire," would "invoke clear thoughts for planning the seasons ahead."

I popped one in what I hoped was a flame-proof bowl and lit it up. The card instructed me to "waft the smell of the earth to ground you during your self-care routine." I don't know if I'd describe what I felt as grounded, but the incense did smell like the Buddhist altar at my grandma's house, which was nice. Neither the product card nor Reverse Karma's website listed what the cones were made of — what if someone had allergies?

I'm also wary of Reverse Karma. Its items have names like "Sage That Sh*t" (sage bundles for nearly $12) and "Stay Lit" (incense sticks), there's something culturally appropriative-ish about the whole brand. They're not explicitly stealing from cultures, but it all comes off as someone who went to a Southeastern Asian country once for two weeks and decided to market its traditions to millennials.

Aragonite

I literally laughed out loud when I opened the little velvet bag that held this month's crystal because it was so tiny. For the Sap Moon, Lunarly sent a nugget of aragonite, which is supposedly a "mineralized beam of light." Here it is, next to a tiny hand for scale.

Described as "strong, but delicate, and ever moving forward," the hunk of rock is meant to remind you that "moving on is letting go." The card instructed me to try a mindfulness exercise while holding the rock, breathing deeply as I imagined light coming from the rock.

"Where does the light go?" the card asked. "Take note."

I usually dismiss crystals' healing properties, but the exercise was a chill way to avoid being on the hell that is the internet for ten minutes. Sometimes you do need a break. I wish the rock was bigger, though.

Lemongrass sage soap

This month's box also included some incredible smelling soap from Spinster Sisters Co. Its website lists the soap for $3 for a 0.9 ounce bar. It was under "Care" on the list of products that came with the box.

I'm not going to lie, the soap smelled delicious, like an herby lemon tart. If you told me that it was a Lara bar, I'd probably try to take a bite out of it.

While the card provided with the box suggested using the soap "often to strengthen your soul this Sap Moon," I experienced no soul strengthening. The card wasn't clear on whatsoul strengthening was supposed to feel like, but if it's anything like pleasantly citrus-scented hands all day, then maybe my soul was strengthened!

Mushroom Matcha drink mix

The "Care" section of the card also included Four Sigmatic's Mushroom Matcha Drink Mix, which runs a whopping $33 for a 20-serving package. The card claims that it "gets your mind moving" since it's caffeinated.

Adhering to the package's suggestions, I mixed the matcha powder into hot water and topped it off with some oat milk and honey. It was disgusting. The additions didn't help the taste — the green tea drink tastes what I'd expect mushroom flavored La Croix to taste like. There's only a hint of mushroom, but it's somehow both unsatisfying and overpowering.

And the people around me found it repulsive, too.

My roommate, who usually enjoys the taste of dirt and regularly drinks weird herbal-infused liquors, described the tea as "how the smell of Manhattan would taste." My other roommate spat it into the sink as soon as she took a sip. We even tried to give it to my cat, who will beg for any kind of human food and regularly hunts insects, but he sniffed it and promptly walked away. This is an animal who likes to eat snails.If even hedoesn't find the drink appealing, who will?

Setting intentions

The part I struggled with the most was setting intentions, mainly because I have no idea what that is in the first place.

Another card that came with the box described intentions as "values we seek to embody every day." Based on the lunar cycles, setting intentions is meant to "manifest the absolute best versions of ourselves."

"Intention setting is choosing an intention to carry with you every day," the FAQ read, which is just as helpful as describing anxiety as "when you're feeling anxious."

Lunarly's FAQ about it wasn't clear, either. It suggested ways to set yourself up while setting intentions, with phrases like "find a peaceful place to THINK clearly" and "speak your truth." I tried it all, and I still couldn't figure out what I was supposed to be looking for.

Instead, I made a list of goals to decrease my overwhelming and constant anxiety, but I'm still not sure what an intention is. The journal and the stickers reminded me of bullet journaling, another self-care aesthetic I was enthusiastic about but wasn't able to stick to.

This notebook was a cute exercise in scrapbooking that kept me accountable. In the three days of "intention setting" I did, I felt overall less jittery and less on the verge of panic, but I think that was more from me cutting back on the sheer amount of caffeine I was consuming instead of cleansing my soul.

At the end of the day, I'm still not sure who this box is meant for. If you're just starting out in the world of mindfulness and Instagrammable spirituality, Lunarly leaves its main goal of intention setting unexplained.

If you're already well-versed in the world of pseudo-Buddhism and meditation and sage burning, then you probably know where to get incense cones that aren't $8.95 for seven and likely don't need motivational stickers that declare "Literally Plant Even" for your practice. Obviously a cute notebook won't take the place of an actual mental health professional, but I think this box would be better for beginners if it had more clear guidelines.

That's not to say that the box isn't worthit, from a monetary perspective at least. My pet peeve is when subscription boxes send tiny "sample" sizes that feel more like miniaturized clutter. I appreciate that Lunarly sent full-sized items that you'd actually use (aside from that nasty tea, but maybe someone in this vast world thinks it's tasty) instead of things that will take up space. This is not a subscription box of knick knacks you'll keep until your annual Netflix-fueled KonMari clutter sweep.

I also want to note that individually, the items in the box tally up to over $40 a month. There are plenty of things that cost $40 a month -- like the time I signed up for a free trial of YouTube TV to watch the premiere of The Bachelorand forgot to cancel it once the trial was over. I'll admit that as silly as Lunarly's suggestions felt, I'd rather spend $40 on one of their boxes than on another month of hate-watching The Bachelor.

Would I actually buy a monthly subscription to Lunarly? Probably not — even if I'd choose it over The Bachelor, I think there are better ways to spend my money than on comically small rocks. There are also more effective ways to learn the art of self-care.