The Myth of Selfishness

Have you ever been called selfish for putting yourself first or felt that crushing guilt when you said yes to something you didn’t actually want to do? Like your gut is screaming at you to choose yourself, but you abandon it and choose others anyway?

I've been doing a lot of thinking about selfishness, and, well, myself. Which feels ironic, but also kind of the point.

What if the thing we’ve been calling “selfish” this whole time… isn’t? Cue the existential spiral and overly dramatic inner monologue.

For most of my life, I’ve made choices through the filter of guilt. I said yes because I didn’t want to disappoint. I stayed quiet because I didn’t want to seem difficult. I kept showing up when I didn’t want to, just to avoid being labeled selfish—when really, I just needed to be horizontal, sipping tea, and watching Scream like Billy Loomis isn’t the poster boy for unresolved trauma and hot bad decisions.
I can fix him.
No really, I can.

And the times I did choose differently, when I said no, stepped back, or changed my mind, I carried around this invisible stamp of shame. Like I’d broken some sacred contract I never actually signed.

Oftentimes, it felt more stressful to choose myself than to just go with the flow and do what other people wanted.

Not long ago, someone older and wiser said something that stuck with me and hasn’t let go since.

“Selfishness isn’t the opposite of selflessness.
The opposite of both is self-fullness.”

I swear time stopped for a second when I heard it, and everything I thought I knew vanished into thin air.

We’re taught there are only two options. You’re either a good person who sacrifices, or a selfish one who chooses themselves.
But what if neither is the goal?
And what if both selfishness and selflessness miss the mark entirely?

From early on, especially as women, we’re taught that putting ourselves first makes us difficult, demanding, or worse of all…unlikable. That the more we give, the more lovable we become. But if you’re doing something out of guilt, resentment, or martyrdom, how is that any better?
You’re playing a part and ghosting yourself at the same time. Not a good look, my friend. And quite exhausting if you ask me.

I know it veers into self-help poster territory, but what if being self-full, clear, rooted, and honest is what we were meant to be all along?

It’s not always graceful. It’s not always well-received. But maybe it’s the most honest thing we can do.

It sounds simple. It’s not.

Self-fullness means letting go of the praise that comes from being agreeable. It means not needing applause for tolerating things that don’t serve you. It means being honest about what you want, even if it’s inconvenient, even if it disappoints people, even if it unravels the version of you they liked best.

And that’s hard, especially when your worth has been tied to how little space you take up and how much you’re willing to bend.

When the version of you they’ve come to rely on is the one who never rocks the boat, choosing yourself can feel like setting the whole thing on fire. The moment you start acting differently, reality shifts. The dynamic tilts. Discomfort creeps in. A kind of relational dysbiosis forms.

Suddenly it’s, “You’ve changed,” or “I don’t like this version of you,”
even when that version is actually just… you.
The real you, finally showing up.

And that can fucking hurt, especially when the real you feels more rejected than embraced by the people who were supposed to know you best.

I’ve been trying to practice this for a few years now. And spoiler, it’s still hard. I still feel guilty when I set boundaries or choose myself.
It’s tempting to keep the peace and just say yes.
You might even keep more friends that way.

But is it worth it if you lose yourself in the process?

Let’s break it down to something petty and familiar. My speciality.

Maybe you’ve helped out at Thanksgiving at your great Aunt Zelda’s house every year since childhood. Now you’re 40, with your own life and family, but you’re still folding napkins and wrestling giblets because it’s “just what you do.”
Then one year, you decide you want to skip the stuffing and go to Maui instead.

But Aunt Zelda lays the guilt on thick.
So you stay. And the whole time, you’re fantasizing about slipping arsenic into her famous tapioca pudding.

That’s not selflessness.
That’s slow-burn self-abandonment.

And maybe bending yourself in half to be liked or stay included isn’t as admirable as we’ve made it out to be.
Maybe choosing your own peace, even if it’s messy or misunderstood, isn’t selfish at all.
Maybe it’s where the real you begins.

Sometimes you have to stop in your tracks and ask yourself,
Am I going to keep living for everyone else, or finally take ownership of my own life?

Time’s not going to wait.
So really… what are you waiting for?