tending to myself

A lesson I keep learning, over and over again, is that I must tend to myself.
I must find ways to make time to care for myself.
Taking care of Abby is Abby’s responsibility.
Taking care of our human is our responsibility.

It sounds obvious—but it’s not. It hasn’t been obvious for most of my life.
I don’t feel like I was trained, shown, or supported in truly taking care of myself. It’s felt like an uphill battle to figure out what that even means.

Maybe the hardest part is that to take care of myself, I have to know myself.
And knowing myself hasn’t always felt like a priority.
That education—the one about me—wasn’t something I was taught to value.

But now, at 48½ years old, I see the truth:
No one is going to invite me to take care of myself.
No one is going to hand me the time, or the permission.
It’s something I have to carve out, protect, and choose.
Not just because I have to—but because I want to.
Because I finally see the value in it.

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For most of my life, I’ve moved like water—flowing toward others, filling the gaps I sense in them, softening hard edges, and smoothing over the discomfort in rooms and relationships.
I’ve poured my life force into others wherever I could, thinking it was a good use of my time and energy—to be supportive, adaptable, kind, and attuned.

And yes, there’s been beauty in that. Deep learning. Connection.
But there’s also been disappointment—moments where I didn’t feel reciprocated, seen, or met in the same way.

Those experiences of being unseen, of feeling outside the circle, of wondering if I belong—they add up.
Over time, the cumulative weight of being missed, of caring without being cared for in return, becomes heavy.

I’ve spent years trying to understand why.
What’s wrong with me?
What can I change to be more accepted, more loved, more chosen?
But now I see: I’m the one who needs to create the experiences I long for.

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It takes so much energy to keep adapting—to constantly read the room and reshape myself to fit.
I don’t have that energy anymore.
What I want now is peace.
To feel aligned and happy with myself—not as an ideal state, but as a daily practice of remembering that I am worthy of my own love and attention.

I don’t need anyone’s permission for that.
I don’t need to earn it through effort or prove it through performance.

And I’m tired of chasing the places where connection feels hard, seductive, just out of reach—as if changing someone’s mind about me would finally mean I’m enough.
The truth is: that only happens when I choose myself.
When I decide I’m already enough.

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It’s bittersweet—this growing up that keeps happening.
My body is changing, my hormones are changing, my community is shifting, the world is changing too.
But what remains constant is this:
My relationship with myself.
My connection to the natural world.
The sunrises and sunsets.
The elements.
My cats.
The small things that bring me back to joy and to presence.

That’s what I have in this lifetime—what I can laugh with, feel with, and build a life around.

The bottom line is this:
I can’t live my life for anyone else and expect to have the results I truly want.
However it feels—sad, lonely, spacious, or quiet—this is the life I want to embrace for myself.