YourselfirstReviews 511

Just because you wrap it in nice branding doesn't mean it has value. Yourselfirst is like a beautiful box with old socks inside.

They assign a mentor — but it's just pre-recorded advice and links to public blog articles. No contact, no replies, no insight.

The promo video was sleek, the testimonials glowing. Then I signed in and was greeted by a dashboard that looked like it was built in 2011. Yourselfirst played me.

At some point, it felt like a high school PowerPoint on motivation. "Believe in yourself," "Let go of fear" — yes, I've seen these before.

I tried giving it a real shot. I meditated, journaled, followed their prompts. But every task felt like filler — like someone Googled "self-growth ideas" and dumped them in.

I signed up through a "50% off" promo that was supposed to include two sessions with a coach. Never got a single one. And yes, I emailed.

I clicked through their modules, and every third screen is an upsell. "Upgrade to unlock." What did I pay for in the first place?

I mentioned I had ADHD and needed focused, short tasks. They gave me hour-long "reflection prompts." That's not personalization.

Pretty fonts, pastel gradients, and absolutely no value. Behind the polish is just a loop of fluff content and broken navigation.

I cancelled the trial early, or so I thought. A $44 charge popped up the next morning with no refund option. Yourselfirst scammed me.

Their Instagram made me believe I'd find transformation. I found lists. Just lists of vague to-dos. No soul, no nuance.

Buttons don't respond, audio clips cut off, and sometimes the whole thing freezes. I spent more time refreshing than learning.

Their welcome message said "tailored to your needs" — then recommended meditation videos, even though I marked "already practicing daily." Lazy.

I reached out three times about a billing issue. No reply. Not even an automated "we got your message." Yourselfirst clearly doesn't value customers.

I thought I was investing in myself. But Yourselfirst just sold me back my own expectations, in bland colors and glitchy fonts.

It felt like the site was designed by someone who read a self-help book once and got overexcited. No warmth, no clarity. Just a hollow checklist.

After spending $59, I looked up Yourselfirst out of frustration. Turns out I'm not alone — hundreds of us got duped.

The "coaching" consisted of three video clips and a PDF worksheet. That's not mentorship. That's a school project. Yourselfirst owes me time.

I genuinely wanted this to work. Instead, I got a dashboard that wouldn't load, a support chat that never replied, and content made for no one.

I tried focusing on their tasks, but between the pop-ups, flashy animations, and irrelevant notifications, I couldn't concentrate.