When Selfishness Becomes Self-Preservation.

For most of my life, I thought that if I put myself first, I would be a disappointment. To God, by putting my own needs above the innumerable others whose needs surely were greater than my own; to my mom, who always emphasized generosity and compassion; to society, which requires of a woman that she be unbreakable, shouldering without complaint more than any human should be capable, making her believe she can Have It All even as she is slowly falling apart; and most of all: to myself, who always bore most heavily the brunt of responsibility in my family, such that saying “no” was a distinct impossibility. A weakness, even.

I was a hard-working, diligent, responsible human being, you see. This is what I told myself. And I strove hard to prove such things to the world over and over again.

My work ethic was both my gift and my armor; a carefully cultivated skill and, as fate would have it, the inevitable undoing of my strength.

That work ethic is both something I’m incredibly grateful for, and something that my heart continues to mourn as I realize the harms that came as a result of unwittingly taking it too far.

My diligence gave me many things — jobs, promotions, good grades, my parents’ approval — just as it also became the symbol of who I was and what I was worth as a person. The more I pushed myself and the harder I worked, the more respect, appreciation, love, and acceptance I earned. At the same time, the better I tempered my restlessness and the more I endured, the more assuredly I survived the ever-escalating challenges that would continue to come my way.

I would come to learn it was my reliance on the consistency of diligence that saw me through my mother’s emergency surgery to remove a benign brain tumor when I was sixteen years old; it was the consistency that got me through college while working two jobs to support myself and my family; and it was the consistency that saw me through a heavily toxic relationship that would come to demand more of me than I ever could have anticipated or imagined.

Without the burdens I’d ceaselessly taught myself to bear over the years, what I continued to be faced with would surely have broken me. Of this, I’m sure, and so for this, I’m grateful.

And also… without the burdens I’d ceaselessly taught myself to bear over the years, perhaps I would have learned boundaries. Perhaps I never would’ve allowed myself to put up with the sort of treatment I received in that toxic relationship. Perhaps I would have been a little more free.

Who knows?

What I do know is that when you don’t know how to stand still, rest becomes anathema.

It becomes synonymous with laziness, weakness, and selfishness, and because you do not want to be any of these things, you do everything in your power to prove that you’re not. You continue to live your life and you don’t really think about what you’re doing, you only know how to do what you’ve always done, and you don’t know to try anything different. Or even that there is anything different out there to try.

You pick up extra shifts when your coworkers ask you to. You go out on the weekends to experience some semblance of joy with your friends. You workout at the campus gym, you call your mom when you can, you send money back home, you drink copious amounts of white chocolate americanos, you graduate, you think you find The One, you lose yourself, you read all the books you can, you meditate, pray, run, write, talk, argue, apologize, repeat, cry, laugh, put up, put out, put down, you try to save your relationship, you let your relationship go, you find yourself, you experience freedom, your Summer of Yes, you learn to trust again, you realize you still have so much pain, you find beauty, you grieve loss, you grieve the past, you grieve the futures that never were, you dream, you sacrifice, you grow, you write, you love, you heal, you slip, you make mistakes, you try, you fail, you try again, you criticize yourself, you push, you pull, you climb, you never stop, you never stop, you never stop…

Then suddenly the pandemic happens, and for the first time in your life… you are forced to rest.

You are granted space.

And choice.

And peace.

And with all these beautiful, wonderful, terrifying things suddenly in your lap, you have no choice but to feel all the sensations, all the pain, all the signals your body has been trying to send you for years to indicate that the life you’re living and the burden you’re carrying is too much.

And you crumble. Deeply. Into teeny tiny miniscule pieces that are incapable of doing more than one simple task each day: the laundry, if you’re lucky. A shower, if you feel like it. The dishes, most commonly.

I would sit for hours on the couch in the middle of the day doing nothing but watching scripted TV while a different script was simultaneously playing out in my head:

You’re not really depressed. You’re just using depression as an excuse to be lazy. You should really get up and do something. Don’t you know you’re only of value if you’re contributing something to the greater good? What is your partner going to think of you, sitting here on the couch all day? You know he’s not going to want to stick around if you act like a lazy bum all day.

Before my breakdown — before I let myself feel all the things I’d been pushing away — I had begun having fantasies about getting into some sort of accident.

Nothing completely debilitating, just enough to incapacitate me for a few weeks so I could go to a hospital, be completely waited upon, and not feel guilty about it because I physically didn’t have a choice. Friends would visit and send flowers. Kind nurses would bring me lunch in bed. I’d be given painkillers if I needed them, and blissfully have an entire room to myself without anyone telling me that I was weak or entitled for doing so. I just wanted to be taken care of, but I didn’t think reality would grant me the space to ask for such things.

I was surprised to find that this is actually a fairly common fantasy among those who struggle with asking for what they need. It’s especially common for moms who’ve been made to feel they have an immense amount of responsibility that they alone must carry, and therefore feel as though if they fail, forget, or make a mistake that their family will suffer for it. They try to keep Everything Under Control, and in so doing, lose little parts of themselves along the way until there seems to be very little left of them at all.

I’m no parent, but still, I had experienced this first hand — in too many ways than I can count.

At some point in 2021, I was diagnosed with complex PTSD. This was both enlightening — to be able to put a name, a reason, for all the triggers I was experiencing — and also debilitating. I didn’t want to have complex PTSD, I just wanted to live my life. But I did have it, and so I needed find a way to heal.

And in order to heal, I had to begin putting myself first.

I had to accept that choosing myself was not an act of selfishness, but an act of self-preservation.

I had to start saying “No.” “I can’t.” “I don’t have it in me.”

I had to start pouring grace into my soul and treating myself with compassion and understanding, rather than allowing that nasty script to mobilize me into the exact kinds of action that eventually broke me.

I had to allow myself to recover.

Nothing you do for the sake of rescuing your body, health, sanity, mind, or soul is ever selfish.

When the cost of ignoring your needs is self-abandonment, you are never wrong, a disappointment, or foolish for choosing your own survival over the needs of others. You should never so fear disappointing the people in your life — whether it’s a boss, a partner, or a family member — that you’re willing to sacrifice your joy, life, or spirit before being willing to let them down.

I know so much of our world, for women especially, requires us to make our selves smaller, dependable, even nonexistent, in order to be accepted. But our duties are not to the world out there.

Our duties are to the world in here. In each of us. To our hearts and our souls and our freedom. If the relationships in our lives do not prioritize us in such a way that makes us feel safe, whole, and supported, those relationships ought to be deeply scrutinized.

For me, choosing myself has probably been the best thing I’ve ever done in my life. Contrary to what I used to think, Rest has actually broadened my perspective, and given me more energy, more life, and more time to be able to commit to others. Taking time to recover has allowed me to heal in unimaginable ways, such that I have a deeper understanding of myself, my path, and why all of this is so important to me. And giving myself space, intentionally, compassionately, and with abundant grace, has allowed me to give so much more space and grace to others.

The journey has been long and winding and hard, but so too has it been abundant in strengthened relationships, humor and joy, and in the sort of nature beauty that reminds us how blessedly small we are in the grand scope of this wondrous place we call home.

If you’re just starting out on this journey, I want to encourage you to keep going. Even when it’s tough. Even when you keep making the same old mistakes as always. Change only happens when we fail and fail again and fail better. Growth and healing come with dedicated effort. And sometimes, when you’re a perfectionist, that effort comes in the form of rest.

Contrary to many of our culture’s messages, I believe rest is one of the most valuable, and one of the most honorable, goals towards which we can strive.

And it just might be the secret key that unlocks all the freedoms we’ve so long been living without.

I just want you to know… I am holding all of possibility for you: possibility for a freer life even than the one you’re living now; possibility for the scope of your dreams to be so big, you can’t even presently imagine it; and possibility for energy. For hope. For victory.