Self-care means…
Self-care means…
On Sunday mornings, I sit and breathe— flat white in hand, with no guilt for ignoring my to-do list.
When work feels heavy, I pause. I pace. I take my space, and I choose my grace.
If sharp words land, I don’t react. I listen, ask why, and state the facts.
When gossip rises, I don’t make excuses to leave. “I’m not interested in this conversation.” Full stop. The end.
And the workplace lesson I’ve earned over time: High performance can cost health.
Early in my career, I over-delivered, over-explained, and over-accommodated—trying to prove my value and be indispensable.
Early mistakes taught me this: Being “always available” isn’t leadership; it’s leakage.
Saying yes to everything doesn’t prove capability—it hides priorities.
Burnout doesn’t make you dedicated. Boundaries do.
Those efforts were sincere. They were also expensive.
Today, self-care shows up as performance discipline: I ask for scope before I sprint. I document decisions and expectations.
I escalate issues early—calmly, clearly, with evidence.
When I’m overwhelmed or treated unfairly, I don’t push through in silence—I respond with process, not emotion. And yes, I take a sick day without guilt. That’s resilience.
If setbacks happen, I let myself feel them—then I recover with intention. I don’t rush to “prove I’m fine.”
I return when I’m grounded, clear on my value, and aligned with the work I’m building.
Rest isn’t failure. Slow is still growth. Life has many layers, and I honor them.
And I’m genuinely okay with the younger me. She made mistakes, learned quickly, and kept going.
I don’t judge her—I respect her.
Muscle and tenderness are both my art—I keep them together, heart to heart.
Self-care means the kind that holds, not the kind that performs.
