It's Okay to Choose Yourself Sometimes

It's Okay to Choose Yourself Sometimes

Are you the person who always puts everyone else first?

The one who makes sure everyone is okay before checking on yourself?

The one who says yes when you really want to say no?

The one who takes care of everyone else's needs while quietly putting your own on the back burner?

If you are, I want you to hear something:

It's okay to choose yourself sometimes.

Taking care of yourself doesn't make you

 selfish. 

It doesn't mean you don't love your family.

It doesn't mean you don't care about your partner, your children, your friends, or the people who depend on you.

It means you're human. And humans need care too.

We spend so much time making sure everyone else is happy that sometimes we forget to ask ourselves a simple question:

"What would make me happy?"

Maybe it's getting your hair or nails done.

Maybe it's trying a new hobby.

Maybe it's going to your favorite restaurant and ordering exactly what you want.

Maybe it's starting that little house project you've been thinking about.

Maybe it's taking the scenic route home just because you want to enjoy the view.

Maybe it's sitting somewhere quiet with a cup of coffee and doing absolutely nothing.

It doesn't have to be expensive. 

Sometimes self-care can be five minutes. Ten minutes. An hour. Or maybe, if you're fortunate enough to have the time, an entire day.

The amount of time isn't what matters.

Taking the time matters.

And sometimes self-care means saying no.

No, I don't want to go.

No, I don't have the energy today.

No, I can't take that on right now.

No, I need some time for myself.

And you don't always have to feel guilty for it.

You are allowed to have limits.

You are allowed to rest.

You are allowed to protect your peace.

You are allowed to do something simply because it brings you joy.

Mental health matters.

Your emotional well-being matters.

And constantly ignoring your own needs doesn't make you a better person. Sometimes it just leaves you exhausted, resentful, overwhelmed, and emotionally drained.

How can you constantly make everyone else happy when you're miserable inside?

How can you keep pouring into everyone else when your own cup is empty?

You can't always give from an empty place. That's why taking care of yourself isn't selfish.

It's maintenance.

Just like a car needs fuel to keep running, we need time to recharge too.

And sometimes we need more than a few minutes.

Sometimes we need to step away from everything.

Put the phone down.

Stop answering messages.

Stop solving everyone else's problems.

Stop worrying about what everyone needs from you.

And simply breathe.

Give yourself permission to exist without having to accomplish something.

You don't have to earn rest.

You don't have to earn happiness.

You don't have to wait until everyone else is okay before you're allowed to be okay.

And here's something else I've learned:

You shouldn't have to completely lose yourself trying to make other people happy.

The people who love you should want you to be happy too.

They should want you to have hobbies.

They should want you to have friends.

They should want you to have quiet time.

They should want you to laugh.

They should want you to have something that's just yours.

Because your happiness shouldn't be a threat to the people around you. It should be something they celebrate with you.

So if you've been putting yourself last for a long time, maybe it's time to move yourself a little closer to the front of the line. Not because everyone else suddenly matters less.

But because you matter too.

Take the drive.

Try the hobby.

Order the dessert.

Get your hair done.

Start the project.

Sit quietly with your coffee.

Say no when you need to.

Say yes to something that makes you happy.

Take five minutes. Take an hour. Take a day.

Whatever you need.

Because taking care of yourself isn't selfish.

Sometimes it's the most loving thing you can do—not only for yourself, but for the people you love.

A happier, healthier you has more of yourself to give. And maybe that's the real point of self-care.

It's not about putting yourself above everyone else. It's about remembering that you belong on your own list, too.

Until We Speak Again,

A Nurturing Soul

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Leave a comment with your thoughts. What's your self-care routine? What are your little joys of life? Let's talk!

What I Need When I Go Quiet

What I Need When I Go Quiet

When I go quiet because I feel like my words don’t matter, what I need most is not to push me further into silence. 

When I go quiet, it means I’m overwhelmed—not absent.

And in those moments, what I need most isn’t pressure. It isn’t repetition. It isn’t frustration from the other person because I’m not responding the way they expect.

What I need is understanding. 

I need them to notice that something shifted in me—and care enough to pause, not escalate. I need them to understand that when I stop talking, it isn’t because I ran out of things to say. 

It’s because I don’t feel safe saying them in that moment. I need them to understand that silence isn’t defiance—it’s self-protection.

First, I need space.

Not the kind of space that feels like punishment or silence used as a weapon—but space that feels safe. 

Space that says, “I’m here when you’re ready.” Space that doesn’t demand immediate answers from a mind that’s still trying to settle.

I need them to stop and ask their self, “Did I just make her feel unheard?” instead of assuming I’m just being distant or dramatic.

I need them to give me the benefit of the doubt, not the assumption of wrongdoing.

I also need calm.

Raised voices, intensity, or pushing for a response while I’m already overwhelmed only makes it harder for me to come back into the conversation. 

It doesn’t help me open up—it makes me shut down further.

I need them to soften their tone instead of raising it. I need them to slow down instead of speeding up the conversation like we’re trying to win something. I need them to recognize that when I feel dismissed, I don’t just shut down the argument—I shut down emotionally.

I need them to say things like, “I hear you,” even if you don’t fully understand yet.

What helps most is patience.

Knowing that I don’t have to explain everything in the heat of the moment. Knowing that the conversation doesn’t have to be forced out of me before I’m ready.

Because I will come back. I always do.

I just need time to process what I’m feeling without being judged for it. I need reassurance, too.

Not pressure like “you need to talk right now,” but gentle reminders like, “We can talk when you’re ready,” or “I’m here when you want to explain.” 

That kind of response doesn’t make me feel trapped. It makes me feel safe enough to eventually open back up.

And when I do come back, I need listening. 

Not interruptions. Not corrections in the middle of my thoughts. Not the conversation being redirected away from what I’m trying to express.

Just listening.

Because part of why I go quiet in the first place is because I don’t always feel heard when I speak.

I don’t need perfection from the people I love. 

I just need emotional safety. 

I need to know that my silence won’t be used against me later.  That my triggers won’t be dismissed.  That my need to step back doesn’t make me difficult or less worthy of being understood.

I need them to reassure me that my feelings matter, even when we don’t agree. And most importantly, I need them to care more about connection than being right in that moment.

Because when I go quiet, I’m not leaving the relationship. I’m waiting for it to feel safe enough for me to come back into it.

Until We Speak Again,

A Quiet Soul

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Leave a comment below. How do you feel when people misunderstand your silence? Let's Talk! 

Why I Go Quiet

Why I Go Quiet

People sometimes think silence means nothing is wrong. Or worse—they think silence means I don’t care. But that’s not always true.

Sometimes silence is actually what happens after I’ve been pushed past my emotional limit.

For me, one of my biggest triggers is being yelled at. 

Not normal disagreement. Not raised voices during excitement or conversation. 

I’m talking about yelling that feels sharp, loud, and intense enough to make my body react before my mind can even catch up. 

And when that happens, something in me shuts down.

I don’t always respond right away. I don’t always defend myself. I don’t always explain how I feel in that moment. 

Instead… I go quiet. And from the outside, it probably looks like I don’t have anything to say.

But that’s not what’s really happening.

What’s really happening is I’m trying to regulate everything inside of me at once.

I’m trying to process the present moment while my mind is also pulling me back into things I’ve experienced before. 

My body reacts like it’s in danger, even if the situation isn’t physically dangerous. 

And in that state, words don’t come out clearly. They get stuck. 

So I go silent. Not because I don’t care.

But because I care too much and I don’t trust what might come out if I speak while I’m overwhelmed. 

Silence, in those moments, is protection. It’s me trying not to make things worse. It’s me trying to hold myself together when I feel like I’m falling apart internally.

The hardest part is that people don’t always understand that silence. 

They may think I’m ignoring them. Or being stubborn. Or shutting down the relationship. 

But really, I’m just trying to survive the emotional wave hitting me in real time. And sometimes I don’t know how to explain that without feeling misunderstood anyway.

So I wait. I go quiet.

And later—when I feel safe again, when my thoughts are clear again—that’s when I can talk. 

That’s when I can explain what happened inside me. 

That’s when I can say, “When voices get raised, something in me shuts down. I need space in those moments, not pressure.”

I used to feel ashamed of that silence. Like I was broken for not reacting “normally.” But I’ve learned something important. 

Silence isn’t always avoidance. Sometimes it’s self-preservation.

And the right people—the safe people—don’t punish you for that silence. 

They try to understand it. They give you space to come back to your voice when you’re ready to use it again.

Until We Speak again,

A Quiet Soul

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