Self-Care, Self-Love, and the Fear of Feeling Selfish

Embracing the journey of self-love—remembering that loving yourself is the greatest challenge and triumph.

Let’s just call it what it is: it feels wrong sometimes to put yourself first. Maybe even shameful. There’s this low hum of guilt in the background when you say no, ask for space, or choose yourself over someone else’s request. The old scripts run loud in the mind— “Who do you think you are? Other people need you. What if they’re disappointed?”

If you’re anything like me, somewhere along the line you absorbed the idea that being a good person means being selfless—literally less of yourself. You give and you give, holding the belief that self-care is selfish, self-love is indulgent, and everyone else comes first. Until one day, you realize you’re running on fumes, exhausted and resentful, quietly wondering when it’s finally your turn.

When Self-Acceptance Feels Impossible

But here’s the real kicker: Even when the opportunity arises to care for yourself, it can feel impossible to know what you actually need. Maybe you’ve never been given permission to ask yourself those questions. Maybe you grew up in an environment where your needs were ignored, minimized, or made to feel like a burden. Over time, you learn to ignore yourself, too. You get so good at tuning out your own desires that when someone finally asks, “What do you want?” you freeze. Blank. No idea.

There’s so much pressure to “just love yourself”—but what if you don’t know how? What if you don’t even know who you are outside of what you do for others? The first step is giving yourself permission to not have all the answers right away. To admit, I don’t know what I need and let that be okay. Sometimes self-love is allowing yourself to be a work in progress, to not have it all figured out, and to meet yourself with compassion in the confusion.

Why Do We Feel Selfish for Putting Ourselves First?

It’s not just culture. It’s family, upbringing, gender roles, the stories we saw played out in childhood, the way our caretakers modeled love and sacrifice. We’re taught—especially as women, caregivers, and helpers—that our worth is tied to our usefulness. That love is earned through martyrdom. That taking time for yourself means you’re neglecting someone else.

But here’s the truth: self-care and self-love are not selfish. They are survival. They are oxygen. You cannot pour from an empty cup, and you certainly cannot set the world on fire with your magic if you’re a pile of ash on the floor.

Rewriting the Story: Self-Care as Sacred Practice

What if self-care is actually an act of radical courage? What if self-love is the foundation for every good thing you offer the world? When you prioritize yourself—not instead of others, but alongside them—you model something powerful. You show your kids, your friends, your clients, everyone watching, that it’s okay to take up space. That you are worthy of care simply because you exist.

But if you don’t know what self-care looks like for you, start small. Ask yourself questions you’ve never had the chance to ask:

• What feels soothing to me?

• What do I crave—rest, quiet, laughter, movement, solitude, connection?

• If there were no expectations, what would I choose right now?

  
  

It’s okay if nothing comes up at first. Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is sit in the not-knowing. Listen gently. Let yourself experiment—try new things, notice what feels nourishing (and what doesn’t), and give yourself permission to change your mind. Self-care can be awkward at first because you’re reclaiming territory you were never allowed to explore.

Self-love is forgiving yourself for the mess and the mistakes. It’s looking in the mirror and meeting your own gaze with kindness, not critique. It’s asking, “What do I need right now?” and actually honoring the answer—even if the answer is, I have no idea yet, but I’m willing to find out.

You Are Not Selfish for Meeting Your Needs

Here’s the magic twist: The more you care for yourself, the more you have to give. The more you love yourself, the deeper you can love others. Self-care isn’t self-ish; it’s self-full. It’s how you stoke your own flame so you can rise, again and again, like the phoenix you are meant to be.

So next time that old voice creeps in—reminding you to shrink, to self-sacrifice, to feel guilty for simply existing—pause. Breathe. Remember: you are worthy of love, care, and rest. Not because of what you do for others, but because you are you.

And if you don’t know where to begin, begin with this: I am learning. I am allowed to take up space. I am allowed to care for myself, even if it feels unfamiliar and shaky. My needs matter, even if I’m still discovering what they are.

With you in the messy middle,

Sarah