It was a Saturday. Not one of those special kinds that come with lavender mornings or hints of rain on warm concrete. Just a plain Saturday, the kind that slips through your fingers unnoticed, because nothing special happened. But it stayed with me, because Ruth asked me something that cracked the dam in my chest.
"Where do you draw the line between self-love and selfishness?"
She had said it casually, like she was asking if I wanted coffee or something. But something about it stuck to my skin, like static. "Hmm, that's an interesting question" I nodded at her and smiled, but that question began to echo. And it hasn't stopped since.
At first, I translated it like this: How do you know when it's time to say No?
But as the hours passed, it morphed into something more haunting:
How do you know you're not abandoning someone... when you finally choose yourself?
I started thinking of me, or the person I was. There was a time when I said "yes" like it was my birthright.
Yes, I'll stay late.
Yes, I can listen... again, even when I was tired and bored.
Yes, I'll forgive you, even though it still stings when I lie in bed and think about it.
Yes, I'll help you pick up your pieces even when I haven't figured out how to gather mine.
They probably termed it as kindness, service, being dependable or in better terms 'always available'. They put medals on your chest for it. But no one sees the bruises it leaves on your spirit when you start forgetting what your own voice sounds like when it says "I need."
I remember the first time I truly almost said "No."
It was a party. A celebration, I can't really recall. There was candles, music and laughter. Everyone was there. I hadn't slept in days and my body ached from pretending to be okay. My mind was tired from spinning stories, it refused to quiet because I didn't want people thinking I was boring. But the truth is, all I needed was rest, solitude and maybe... Silence. I wasn't depressed or suicidal, don't get me wrong. I just felt I should say 'No'. But I didn't...
I went. I smiled with cracked lips and danced with tired bones.
Because I didn't want to disappoint. Because "no" felt like a betrayal of the unspoken contract I'd written with invisible ink: I'll be here, always. I'll show up, always.
I left the party early, sat in the car, and cried until I tasted salt and shame.
Here's the thing no one tells you: saying "Yes" too much makes you disappear. Slowly and subtly. Like fog evaporating under the morning sun. You don't notice until one day you look in the mirror and the reflection blinks back, unfamiliar.
You become a ghost in your own life. Present, but not really there. Heard, but not understood.
And that's when Ruth's question hit again:
Where is the line?
Where do I stop being available and start being rare?
Self-love isn't manicures and bubble baths. At least, not always.
Sometimes, it's blocking the number that only calls when it needs you.
Sometimes, it's leaving the room before you cry in front of people who don't deserve your tears.
Sometimes, it's telling your family and friends you won't be attending dinner, not because you don't love them, but because you've got other plans. Maybe to just... Netflix and Chill.
It's complicated and messy. Not nearly as poetic as social media wants it to be.
Because people will call it selfish.
They'll say, "You've changed."
They'll say, "You no longer care like you used to."
But the truth is: you've just stopped abandoning yourself, and the real ones among them, the ones that truly love you, will see you and appreciate you for it.
I once knew a girl... let's call her Layla.
Layla had a heart like an open field. You could walk across it, dance barefoot in its honesty, plant your secrets in her soil and know they'd bloom. But the funny thing is... People left trash there too, emotional rubbish that no one wanted or would take. Promises they had no intention of keeping.
Layla kept saying yes, like the 'good girl' that she was. She would complete a full project that others would do for thousands of dollars for free. Just because she was concerned about what the other party would think of her.
Until one day she collapsed. Literally... Her body said "No" before her mouth ever could. A panic attack in a grocery store aisle, between the canned peas and the pickles.
And as she sat on the cold floor, gasping, with strangers passing by, she realized something: she had loved everyone but herself.
That day, she learned the word "No." The lesson was not so easy to come by... But she'd learnt it the hard way.
She used it timidly at first. Whispered, like an apology. Because not all changes could come as an hurricane.
But it grew louder and stronger. Until it stood like a wall between her and the people who only came to take.
That wall didn't mean she stopped loving others. It just meant she finally included herself in the list.
I don't want to be a Layla, and neither should you.
There is a kind of grief and relief that comes with choosing yourself.
You lose people. Opportunities. Roles you played so well that they gave you standing ovations for.
But what you gain is quieter and much more sacred.
Sleep that comes without guilt.
Peace that doesn't need permission.
Love that doesn't demand blood as proof.
A you that doesn't need others to thrive.
And one day, you'll sit alone at your window, watching the rain draw invisible maps across the glass, and you'll realize... hmmm! you miss nothing.
Because for the first time in a very long time, you are home.
Inside your own boundaries.
Inside your own truth.
Inside your own arms. But that's not all... Because you realise that, that's the place you've always wanted to be.
Final Thought
We're taught that love is giving, always giving. But sometimes, the greatest act of love is restraint. A full-bodied, spine-straight kind of resounding NO that tells the world, I matter too.
So, to the one reading this who is torn between self-love and selfishness:
You are not selfish for resting.
You are not cold for protecting your peace.
You are not cruel for choosing yourself.
You are allowed to walk away.
Even if they don't understand.
Even if they call you names and even if it breaks your heart.
Because sometimes, saying NO is the first time you say Yes to the one person who truly matters and who's been waiting to be loved all along:
YOU.