Hi! I’m Katie, a cultural and social psychologist—but you can think of me as your BFF with a PhD. I write about the psychology of living intentionally—how we create meaning, beauty, and comfort in both our inner worlds and the spaces we move through. Sometimes that means travel. Sometimes that means soft clothes and candlelight. If you’re craving a more intentional life—at home or away—you’re in the right place. I’m so glad you’re here.
Research shows that it’s not the major, life-shifting events—grief, job loss, heartbreak—that bring us the most daily distress.
It’s the tiny things.
The predictable, persistent friction points of everyday life.
Running late. Misplacing your keys. The email you forgot to answer.
Psychologists call these daily hassles. They’re small, but relentless. And research tells us they’re the real culprits behind our chronic stress. Over time, these low-grade stressors don’t just weigh on us mentally. They can show up physically, too—as headaches, muscle pain, anxiety, or burnout.
But here’s the hopeful part.
The same body of research also offers us a way to recalibrate.
They’re called daily uplifts—simple, soothing experiences that ease our nervous systems and counterbalance the toll of daily stress.
A warm drink.
A favourite sweater that feels like a soft hug.
A room that holds you instead of demanding something from you.
Blankets, Tea, and Ted Lasso
One of my go-to uplifts is changing into soft clothes at the end of the day, curling up under a favourite blanket, tea in hand, book nearby.
Other nights, it’s a feel-good show that doesn’t ask too much of me. My favourite choice? Ted Lasso. It just feels like a serotonin reset.
It’s not fancy.
It’s not expensive.
It’s not particularly Instagrammable.
But it works.
And according to the research, these small comforts are non-negotiables for daily well-being.
Hygge Is Happiness
In The Little Book of Hygge, Meik Wiking, director of the Happiness Research Institute in Copenhagen, shares that the Danish concept of hygge (pronounced hoo-ga). It’s essentially this:
An atmosphere of gentle pleasure.
A calm presence.
A “cosiness of the soul.”
He describes it with phrases like:
“the absence of annoyance”
“cocoa by candlelight”
“you don’t spell it, you feel it”
And most beautifully, he notes that hygge isn’t something you buy. It’s something you create with your own hands.
This aligns beautifully with what we know from psychology.
Your environment matters.
Not in a Pinterest-perfect kind of way, but in a nervous system kind of way.
Wiking also talks about a hyggekrog, one of my favourite parts of the book.
It’s a small nook in your home where you can feel tucked away. Nourished. Safe. A space that feels like you.
But Isn't That…Superficial?
There’s a particular cultural messaging, especially in certain Western circles, that tells us caring too much about our home environments is shallow or self-indulgent. That home decor is frivolous. That aesthetics don’t matter.
I disagree—strongly.
Not because I’m a psychologist (although, that helps). But because I’m a person who deeply craves spaces that feel like they’re holding me together when everything else seems to be pulling me apart.
Creating a cosy, comforting home isn’t all about consumption. It’s not even seeking perfection. It’s simply giving yourself a steady place to land.
Research supports this.
A well-designed, intentionally-styled environment can actually support emotion regulation, creativity, connection, and rest.
It doesn’t need to look like a page out of Southern Living. However, it does need to feel like you.
Enter: Còsagach
While spending time in Scotland, I came across a word I’d never heard before: còsagach.
It’s a Scottish Gaelic adjective that means cosy, snug, or sheltering.
It might come from the word còsag—a small nook where little creatures live.
I loved that.
It reminded me of what hygge stands for and also how traveling sometimes opens our eyes not just to landscapes but to language and new worldviews.
To ideas that name things we’ve always felt but didn’t know we were allowed to value.
I now think of còsagach as the Highland cousin of hygge.
It reminds me that comfort doesn’t mean stagnation. Or closemindedness.
It means shelter. It means rest.
It reminds me that there is nothing wrong with being a homebody.
In fact, science supports the act of homebodying—cosying into home and coming back to ourselves.
Creating Your Own Còsagach
So, how do we create more cosiness in our homes—especially if they currently feel a little chaotic, a little uninspired, or simply not like us?
The answer isn’t in a shopping spree.
Simply slow down enough to notice what feels good.
What soothes you.
Here are a few of Wiking’s favorite hygge elements (all of which I think apply to còsagach too):
a cosy nook (your own còsag)
candlelight
books
blankets and cushions
vintage or handmade items
wood, ceramics, nature
tactile textures
something warm to drink
good, soft lighting
As you can see, none of this requires perfection.
You don’t need a degree in interior design.
All we’re doing is creating a little corner of the world that whispers this is your space. And, you’re safe here.
I hope this article can serve as a reminder that it’s okay to care about the spaces where you spend the most of your time.
To light the candles.
To rearrange the furniture.
To hang something beautiful, even if no one else will see it.
Creating a home you love isn’t a futile effort.
It’s not shallow.
It’s science.
It’s its own type of therapy.
It’s nervous system care.
It’s choosing, day after day, to come back to yourself.
And, that’s what I love about being a homebody.
Cover art by Lana Elanor used under license
Dear reader: what's your favourite way to hygge?
This time of the year I go to the Brown Bear Webcam @ Brooks Falls in Katmai National Park - the sound of rushing water is soothing while watching the bears “fish”. Mamas bring their cubs and yearlings for “fishing” lessons.