Selfless, Selfish, Myself

 As a woman and a mother, I have received many commands to be selfless.

Selfless mothers put their children's needs before their own. Selfless women give to community, to their jobs, to their families, to their friends. As a society, we revere them in their selflessness: we hold them up as paragons of virtue, as role models.

Selfish women, on the other hand, are at best chastised and at worst shamed and belittled. The woman at the park who was staring at her phone as her child yelled, "Watch me!" from the monkey bars got stares and eye rolls. The woman who dared to say "No," without explanation or apology, shocked the room into silence.

I was taught to be selfless. I was taught to give of myself until there was nothing left to give. I was taught to not only turn the other cheek but to say "sorry" and then "thank you" when I received the slaps. My family and society at large gave me loud messages about how giving up myself, sacrificing for others, and emptying myself of want or desire was the end goal, the proof that I had followed the script that had been handed to me.

Don't believe me? Read The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. The beloved children's classic is about a boy and a tree, and the tree gives of itself until it is literally just a stump, and the boy - absolutely unaware that he has sapped the tree of everything by taking its apples, branches, and then even the trunk - then sits on that stump and the tree is still glad that (she?) has something left to give.

I hate this book. A child should not take until all that is left of the giver is a stump. It is, indeed, selfless love on the part of the tree... but isn't it also co-dependent garbage where the tree gets its self worth from how many limbs it is willing to chop off in the name of love? Isn't that abusive and ugly? And yet, the book is revered by many. Is this the model of motherhood that I am supposed to adore?

The messages aren't just in children's books, and I don't think I have to tell you where to find them. If you look, they're everywhere. "We" admire people, especially mothers, who give until it hurts. Such women are lauded as examples of womanhood, motherhood, and wife-dom.

And the reverse? We have names for women who are selfish. Names that rhyme with witch.

And I'm sick of it. Why would I choose to be a stump or a bitch? Surely there is more to life than putting my own needs dead last, or disregarding everyone around me without offering nurture or care?

I don't want to be selfless, and I don't want to be selfish. I just want to be myself.

***

Lately I've been taking a yoga class. It's a real gift to myself: I've carved out time and money to make it happen. I haven't done yoga in a class for several years (thanks, Covid) and I've never been particularly good at it; I've done yoga on and off for thirty years (what?!) but I've never had a truly regular practice. But this year, as Tessa is at school and I'm trying to remake my life into the shape that fits the time and place, I decided that yoga would benefit mind, body, and soul, so I went to a couple different studios until I found one that works for me. It's only a couple miles from home, and I only go once a week for now... but I'm finding it transformative.

First, there is the act of organizing my life around this thing that I want to do. I have to get off work on time, leaving a meeting even if it runs late. Then I bought myself a few items to wear, because my workout gear was getting a little shabby (or, in some cases, just too tight - oops). And I needed to pay money to do take the classes, even though I could do free videos in my basement. And then... I needed to show up for myself.

There is something about being in community during yoga. Something wonderfully unpolished about the humanity of the instructor ("take your right foot - oh, sorry, I mean your left foot!"); about being in a room with people younger than me and older than me, in better shape than me or worse shape than me; about the way the studio puts small vases of flowers around the edges of the room. There is magic in a small group of people sitting in stillness and quietly setting their intentions. And there is such release in savasana at the end of the practice. When it's all over and we softly call out "namaste" (the light in me sees the light in you) to the instructor, my whole body feels the gratitude of the words. It helps my body for sure, but it releases my mind and frees my soul even more than it tightens my muscles or improves my balance.

And it is... selfish? To take this time just for myself, not for fitness, but simply because I want to.

I don't think it's selfish. I was taught to believe that it's selfish. But I think it is just me being fully myself.

***

I have become friends with two "new" sets of neighbors who moved in close to my house. Both families have babies as well as older kids, and both families are positively lovely people who are exactly the kind of neighbors one hopes for. There are borrowed groceries, shared bottles of wine, invitations to visit. Babies get passed around, and younger children that tell me wild stories about worms in the garden ("It was six feet long - really!") with sparkling eyes. Both of these women have gone to yoga with me, and I am absolutely blown away by it, the way that they are creating space in their lives for themselves. When Tessa was little, I wasn't good at that... at all. I envy them this.

***

This post isn't about yoga. This post is about figuring out how to be myself, without apology or explanation. This is about me refusing to give of myself until I am only a stump, while still living as a nurturing, generous, loving person. Because I do believe that I am generous, and nurturing, and that I have love to give. But I also believe that it is not my job to solve everyone else's problems and emergencies of their own making, and that if I leave work on time the world will not fall apart, and that if I create space to do the things I love - even when they cost money, or take me away from things other people might wish me to do - it's okay.

I don't want selfish, and I don't want selfless. I want to fully inhabit my own life, my own body, my own dreams.

With Tessa living her own life, following her dreams, I see the importance of following my own dreams even more. If not now, when? I'm 53 years old and I feel so strongly that the best is yet to come, and that I'm not done giving or receiving gifts in life. In this second half of my life, though, I don't want to be selfless anymore. I want to take care of my own wants, desires, longings, and needs... knowing that I can do so without selfishness. I want to, at long last, be in a relationship where not only do I know how to ask for what I need, but also to - without apology - create space for what I need within myself.

No excuses. No explanations. Just yes when I mean yes, and no when I mean no.

I took a workshop once where the instructor gave an analogy about filling our cups. He said that we should picture our lives like a teacup being filled by a waterfall. We could imagine the waterfall filling the cup... and then overflowing into the saucer. He said that when we allowed ourselves to fill up, we could help others with the overflow, and be glad to do so - we would be able to give generously without depleting our own resources. I really like this analogy, but even though I heard it over a decade ago, I think I'm just now starting to get what it might look like in my own life.

It looks like boundaries around work. (I don't work on weekends, I decided. I work late two nights a week, and the other nights are for me. This feels - miraculous. And I should point out that I still put in plenty of unpaid overtime, but it's more on a schedule that works for me.)

It looks like investing in myself. A yoga class, a trip, a pair of lovely yoga tights that don't rise up or show my underwear when I bend over. There is a financial element that I still need to be careful with, but there needs to be space for me, too.

It looks like guarding my time, giving it to people whose energy fuels me rather than depletes me, and it looks like learning that my time alone is worth protecting, too. "I'm sorry, I have plans" is perfectly appropriate if I have scheduled time for myself to write, to read, or to have a quiet evening.

Not a stump.

Not a bitch.

Just - myself, at the center of my own life, surrounded by community, working hard, but giving myself space to breathe.

It's not rocket science, but it still feels new to me. New, and beautiful, and miraculous, and magic. I love it, and I'll take all the magic I can get.