3 min read
Being selfish is good — better than apologizing for existing.
I used to whisper the sentence, “I’m selfish,” like a confession.
As if caring for myself was a crime to be forgiven.
As if putting my needs first was a stain on my character.
But I’ve learned something quieter, sharper, truer.
Being selfish is not the flaw — it’s the foundation.
It’s the boundary that tells the world where I begin.
It’s the voice that says my time is not disposable.
There is a difference between harm and preservation.
Between neglecting others and not abandoning myself.
Between arrogance and self-ownership.
And most people never bother to notice that line.
They celebrate sacrifice until it hollows you out.
They praise generosity until you forget your own hunger.
They applaud availability until you disappear.
And then they wonder why you feel empty.
So I stopped apologizing.
I stopped labeling my self-respect as selfishness.
I stopped shrinking to keep rooms comfortable.
I stopped negotiating my worth for approval.
Being selfish is waking up early for your dreams.
It’s saying no when yes would destroy your energy.
It’s protecting your focus like oxygen.
It’s choosing growth over popularity.
It’s understanding that you cannot pour from absence.
That exhaustion is not a badge of honor.
That burnout is not noble.
That depletion serves no one.
I am selfish with my ambition.
Selfish with my curiosity.
Selfish with my health and my mind.
Selfish with the future I’m building.
Because nobody else wakes up inside my responsibilities.
Nobody else carries my visions through doubt.
Nobody else negotiates my fears at night.
Nobody else pays the cost of my neglect.
So yes — I protect what is mine to protect.
My energy is not public property.
My attention is not free currency.
My direction is not open for committee review.
And here’s the paradox I discovered.
The healthier my selfishness became,
the kinder I grew,
the clearer I listened,
the more authentic my help felt.
Because it came from strength — not depletion.
From choice — not obligation.
From presence — not resentment.
From fullness — not performance.
Being selfish taught me balance.
It taught me priorities are not cruelty.
It taught me self-respect isn’t isolation.
It taught me alignment isn’t arrogance.
I am not here to dissolve into expectations.
I am not here to decorate someone else’s comfort.
I am not here to dilute my purpose.
I am here to live deliberately.
So don’t mistake my clarity for coldness.
Don’t confuse my boundaries for distance.
Don’t translate my focus as disregard.
I simply understand my responsibility to myself.
And if that is selfish —
then I accept the word without shame.
I wear it without apology.
I carry it without defense.
Because being selfish saved my direction.
It guarded my identity.
It sharpened my intention.
It preserved my becoming.
And I would rather be called selfish
than become someone I abandoned to please the world.