Is self-care selfish?

Spending time enjoying my space is as rewarding as a grand adventure

Photo by Alexandra Fuller on Unsplash

Life on Peoples Court is often a wild, exciting adventure—traveling across the country or taking on a crazy home project—but sometimes it’s simply the peace of being in my own space with my own routines and with the one I love most. 

Sometimes it’s just moving through the days and nights fully in the moment, not obsessing and overthinking all the things I have no control over. After five decades of being in a constant whirlwind of fretting and anxiety, an ADHD diagnosis and treatment has changed how I think and function and breathe. I sit in amazement when my mind is at rest.

Sometimes Life on Peoples Court is unscheduled and uncommitted, and I have freedom from expectations and can spend my time doing silly little tasks, like alphabetizing and cataloging my books or reading one of those books without guilt.

This transition has created an uncompromising focus on taking care of myself, instead of expending all my energy—and then some—for others to the point of self-destruction. Saying that aloud makes me feel selfish, but if I can’t be good for me, I can’t be good for anyone else. If I am stressed out, overextended, and exhausted with no chance to recharge, I’m going to resent people, opportunities, and commitments. I will shut down and withdraw from my life.

Overextending myself was once my modus operandi. I was often told by others that I enjoyed that level of chaos—always being busy and stressed—but they didn’t know that my hyperactive brain meant I had little control of my need to please others, not disappoint them, and make them like me.

I didn’t enjoy—or even like—my life. I was in a constant state of self-loathing because I was missing deadlines and struggling to pay attention or comprehend work situations. I had the world on my shoulders and blamed myself for everything—even situations outside my sphere of influence. I felt like I was letting down everyone in my life—across the spectrum of home, family, friends, and career—and I hated myself. I woke up each morning feeling like I was holding my breath.

A couple years ago, I went through Achievers training with the Bell Leadership Institute at work. This included a 360-degree personality profile based on questionnaire answers from my family, friends, acquaintances, and coworkers.

That first day, reading through all the responses of what was right and wrong about me, was like taking a full-force blow from a sledgehammer to the gut. Despite believing and feeling like I gave every ounce of my energy to others, I wasn’t good enough. I was too flawed. I was a disappointment. I was unlikeable. 

OK, maybe the results didn’t quite say that, but my self-deprecating interpretation of their responses put me in a really bad place for a while. 

The beauty of Bell Leadership, though, is breaking down all those comments, getting to the heart of strengths and weaknesses, and figuring out what to do with that information. 

When I analyzed the results and calculated at all the “whys,” one common denominator surfaced: I overextended myself. 

I took more writing assignments than I could handle because I wanted to help. I committed myself to more tasks, events, and gatherings than I could mentally handle, because I didn’t want to let anyone down or make them mad. I didn’t want to miss any opportunities, and I didn’t want to be “that person” talked about because I didn’t show up physically, mentally, emotionally, or occupationally. 

Working through the Achievers program, I began to understand how taking on more than I could realistically get done and overcommitting myself impacted all areas of my life. I also realized that trying to help people who hadn’t asked for help wasn’t seen as an act of unconditional love, but an invasion into a situation I had no business being involved.

So I started saying no. And people really don’t like that, I’ve come to realize, especially if they, too, are caught in a cycle of doing and being everything for everyone.

I cut back on accepting freelance assignments, and eventually stopped contributing because I wasn’t having fun anymore. Now, I will take a rare assignment if it’s a topic I am interested in, and I actually turned in the last story way before the deadline with zero stress.

I quit trying to go to every show, concert, party, and event night after night because I wasn’t fully able to experience them—I was exhausted. I was tired of disappointing my husband every time I committed and then backed out because I couldn’t mentally or physically prepare myself to go.

I backed out of family gatherings that I knew would negatively impact my emotional and mental state. Since I rarely am able to spend holidays with my adult sons, I prefer not to put myself in situations where I will grieve those times even more than I already do. This has definitely been the most difficult of my self-care practices.

I started reserving Sundays for my husband and me—no appointments, get-togethers, or commitments with few exceptions. We do like to mosey downtown to our favorite used bookstore and spend an hour or so checking out new arrivals.

I embrace the actions that make me happy, like organizing my office or sitting on the front porch in the evening with my husband or just existing in the moment.

When I was younger, I looked at people my age (55 was ancient back then) and marveled at how they just didn’t give a damn what other people thought. They said what they wanted and they did what they wanted. Appearances—like makeup and coordinated outfits and brushed hair and unshaved legs—didn’t have as much importance as they once did. I didn’t understand that mentality.

But then I learned some valuable lessons:

• People will think what they will about me, and that’s out of my control and none of my business.

• People are too caught up in their own lives to really give the hair on my legs a second thought. Maybe I wanted my bed-head hair to stand straight up when I went to the grocery store.

• The only life I have any control over is mine. I’m the only one that has that control unless I give it away.

• Life is short. This is the only life I have—I’ve seen death happen and it’s real. It’s coming for me someday, and if I waste another second of my time on earth not being good to myself then I’m wasting the gift God gave me.

That’s the purpose of life—to do the best we can with what we’ve been given. In my life, that may very well be an adventure somewhere around the globe or it may be settling in at home with a book just enjoying my space. Or it may be spending time with people I like and love.

The key is that I am the one who chooses.