When Self-Care Feels Selfish

By Nadeem Shah

For the longest time, I believed rest had to be earned.

That slowing down meant falling behind.

That saying no meant letting people down.

And that taking care of myself—really taking care of myself—was selfish.

I was the person who showed up, even when I was falling apart. The one who always said yes, even when I was drowning in obligations. The one who smiled and said, “I’m fine,” while my insides screamed for space, for silence, for a break.

Because somewhere along the line, I learned that putting myself first made me…bad.

Bad friend. Bad partner. Bad human.

I didn't realize I was slowly disappearing behind all the ways I was trying to be enough for everyone else.

It started with small things.

Skipping lunch to take on extra work.

Cancelling my own plans because someone needed a favor.

Forcing myself to stay at social events longer than I wanted, just so no one would feel hurt or disappointed.

I told myself it was no big deal. That this is what “being there for people” looks like. That selflessness was the highest form of love.

But I was wrong.

Because selflessness, when taken too far, becomes self-erasure.

The guilt came in waves.

I felt guilty for turning my phone on Do Not Disturb.

Guilty for declining invitations without a detailed excuse.

Guilty for sitting on the couch doing nothing when my to-do list stared at me from across the room.

Even when my body ached for rest, my mind whispered, You should be doing more.

It wasn't until my body forced me to listen that I understood something had to change.

One night, I sat on my bed, heart racing from exhaustion, eyes burning from too many sleepless nights. I looked in the mirror and barely recognized myself. Not because I looked different—but because I felt gone.

There was no room left for me in my own life.

That’s when I made a quiet, terrifying decision:

To start choosing myself.

Even if it made others uncomfortable.

Even if the guilt lingered.

Even if I didn’t feel “worthy” of it yet.

The first time I said no to a request without over-explaining, my heart pounded like I had committed a crime.

The first time I left an event early because I needed space, I drove home wondering if people were mad at me.

The first time I called in sick—not because I couldn’t physically show up, but because mentally I was hanging by a thread—I cried on the couch with both guilt and relief tangled in my chest.

But something beautiful began to happen:

I started to feel human again.

Self-care isn’t all candles and bubble baths (though I love both).

Sometimes self-care is choosing the uncomfortable thing—like setting a boundary, or saying "not today."

It’s trusting your own limits and honoring them, even if no one else understands.

It’s looking at your to-do list and realizing: I am not a machine. I’m a person. And I matter.

The more I practiced this, the more I realized:

Taking care of myself didn't make me selfish—it made me sustainable.

And from that place—rested, whole, grounded—I was able to show up for others with real presence. Not resentment. Not depletion. Just truth.

Now, I check in with myself more often.

I ask, “What do I need today?” and I listen.

I make space for naps without shame.

I guard my energy like it's sacred—because it is.

And when guilt knocks, I don’t let it drive the car anymore.

I remind myself:

Saying no to others is sometimes saying yes to yourself.

Rest is not laziness; it's nourishment.

Boundaries are not walls; they're bridges to healthier relationships.

I still care deeply for the people in my life.

But I’ve stopped caring at the expense of myself.

If you’re reading this and nodding quietly—feeling that same tightrope walk between guilt and self-preservation—I want you to know:

You are allowed to rest.

You are allowed to say no.

You are allowed to need things.

You are allowed to take up space in your own life.

Self-care isn’t selfish.

It’s survival.

And you don’t need anyone’s permission to prioritize your own peace.

🖋️ Author’s Note:

This story is a reflection of my own journey through guilt, burnout, and the brave, ongoing practice of choosing myself. If you’ve ever struggled to believe you’re worth the care you so freely give to others—I see you. And I hope this story helps you start giving some of that care back to the one person who truly deserves it: you.