Issue No. 95

Imagine for a moment that you’re caring for someone you deeply love—a close friend, a sibling, or a partner. How would you treat them? Would you push them to exhaustion, dismiss their need for rest, or feed them with whatever scraps of time and energy you have left? Or would you prioritize their well-being, listen when they say they’re tired, and encourage them to slow down when life feels overwhelming?

Now ask yourself: Do you offer yourself the same compassion?

Too often, we pour our energy into nurturing others while neglecting the one person who needs it most—ourselves. We sacrifice sleep to meet deadlines, ignore hunger cues to power through work, and silence our emotional needs to avoid being a “burden.” We treat our bodies and minds like machines, expecting them to function endlessly without complaint, only to collapse when they finally rebel. It’s as if we’ve forgotten that we, too, are human—finite, fragile, and deserving of care.

I learned this lesson the hard way. In my twenties, I prided myself on my relentless drive. I worked late into the night, skipped meals, and dismissed headaches or fatigue as signs of weakness. “Sleep is for the lazy,” I told myself, guzzling coffee to power through another all-nighter. But my body had other plans. A sudden illness—a direct result of chronic stress and neglect—forced me to stop. As I lay in bed, too exhausted to lift my head, I realized the bitter truth: I had been treating myself like an enemy, not an ally.

We forget that self-care isn’t selfish; it’s survival. Just as a plant withers without water, we wither when we ignore our basic needs. Yet, we often wait until crisis strikes to pay attention. Why? Because we’ve been conditioned to believe that caring for ourselves is indulgent, that productivity trumps well-being. But what’s more indulgent than sacrificing your health, your peace, your very self for the sake of “getting things done”?

Start by seeing yourself as someone you’re responsible for. Ask: How would I treat a loved one in my situation? If they were overwhelmed, would I tell them to “push through” or urge them to rest? If they made a mistake, would I berate them or offer kindness? Apply that same logic to yourself.

Regret is a heavy burden, but it’s also a teacher. It reminds you that you’re growing, evolving, and learning to do better.

Set boundaries as an act of love. Recognize that your time, energy, and health are finite. Just as you wouldn’t drain a phone battery without recharging it, don’t drain yourself. Eat nourishing food not out of obligation, but because your body deserves fuel. Sleep not just to function, but to thrive. Say “no” to demands that deplete you, and “yes” to moments of stillness.

And when you falter—as we all do—be gentle. Life has a way of humbling even the most invincible among us. Youth whispers that we’re untouchable, but time teaches us that resilience isn’t about enduring endlessly; it’s about knowing when to rest.

You are the only home you’ll ever truly have. Treat yourself with the tenderness you’d show a dear friend. Forgive your stumbles, honor your limits, and remember: the world will always ask more of you than you can give. But you? You get to choose where to direct your love. Start with yourself. After all, you can’t pour from an empty cup.

Until next week,