And if I asked you to name all the things you love, how long would it take for you to name yourself?
The first time I heard that question, I was convinced I'd name myself first. I knew I loved myself, but years of unresolved trauma and people-pleasing behaviors gently challenged my response. I grew up in an era where "children are to be seen and not heard" was the household motto. My very traditional West Indian mother taught me responsibility, which created the hyper-independent armor I'm still dismantling today.
On top of taking on more responsibilities than a typical child should, I overperformed to gain validation. No matter how smart or talented I was, my mother wasn't easily impressed. Not because she wasn't proud, but because doing well was expected. Her mother never validated her, so she didn't naturally know how.
It took years of therapy to fully understand how my upbringing shaped my adult behaviors. Doing everything on my own while showing up for others had been deeply ingrained in my psyche. Then I learned about self-preservation. For a long time, I thought I knew what that meant: my bills were paid, I had a roof over my head, and I never went without food. That was the bare minimum. True self-preservation goes beyond survival; it's about protecting your energy, your priorities, and your sense of self.
For most of my adult life, I ensured everyone around me had everything they needed to thrive. If it meant taking the back seat, I did it with a smile and called it community. What I didn't realize was that years of people-pleasing, shrinking, and compromising my worth kept me permanently in the back seat.
At 40, I began dismantling the ideology that other people's happiness mattered more than mine. Up until then, I said yes to things I didn't want to do to keep the peace. I attended events I didn't care for. I agreed to tasks I didn't have the capacity for, all to be a "team player." I was exhausted from constantly prioritizing everyone else over myself. If I truly loved myself, why did I let everyone else's needs outweigh my own?
Reflecting on these patterns forced me to evaluate what self-love really meant. I looked at how I went above and beyond for others, only to have my efforts taken for granted. At the time, it didn't bother me. I wasn't doing it for validation. But over time, pouring into cups that wouldn't pour back slowly chipped away at my self-worth.
Learning to set boundaries, honor my energy, and prioritize my own needs has been transformative. Self-preservation isn’t selfish; it’s a radical act of self-respect and a prerequisite for showing up fully in the world. The saying, “You can’t pour from an empty cup,” is often overused but rarely honored. Prioritizing yourself before anyone else can initially bring grief or guilt. But the moment you choose to honor yourself unapologetically, you set yourself free from other people’s expectations. You can’t be a good mother, wife, friend, cousin, or colleague if your mind, body, and spirit feel depleted.
Now, when I hear the question, “If I asked you to name all the things you love, how long would it take for you to name yourself?” I confidently call my own name, grounded in a firm understanding of self-preservation.
Say this to yourself:
Because I love myself, I take time to fill my cup. I say no unapologetically and compromise only within reason. I am my first priority, and that allows me to give from a place of overflow, not depletion.
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- Marsha B
Marsha Badger, award-winning journalist and creator of the Mindful Moon Deck and Moon Child Deck, knows that growth isn’t always comfortable. In this post, she shares how trusting her intuition helped her navigate career shifts, setbacks, and new opportunities, proving that the guidance you seek has always been within you.