People have called me a lot of things over the years, but only one word followed me around like a shadow: Selfish.

I can remember the exact tone it came in. Sometimes whispered, sometimes thrown out in frustration, sometimes wrapped in a joke that wasn’t really a joke. Friends said it. A partner or two said it. And it always came after I chose myself in a moment they thought I shouldn’t have. Back then, it confused me. Because I didn’t feel selfish. I wasn’t putting myself above others out of carelessness. I was simply honoring my feelings, my needs, and my well-being. Something in me understood early on that loving myself wasn’t optional. It was the foundation of how I functioned.

But when people you care about label your self-respect as self-centeredness, it makes you pause. This made me look inward. Not to question whether I should love myself less, but to understand what they were really seeing…and why they were seeing it that way.

Deep down, I think I knew the answer: They were struggling to love themselves in the same way. That really made me take note. But unfortunately, somewhere along the way, I swung in the opposite direction. I loved these people so much that I became so aware of everyone else’s experiences, so attuned to not wanting to hurt or disappoint anyone, that I overcorrected.

I started avoiding hard conversations. I softened my opinions. I swallowed discomfort to maintain peace. I hesitated to be fully honest if I thought someone might feel even slightly wounded. And this wasn’t just with the people I loved. It extended to acquaintances, coworkers, and people who barely knew me. My empathy grew, which was a good thing…but I let it grow unchecked.

I didn’t want to ruffle feathers. I didn’t want to be misunderstood. I didn’t want to be called “selfish” ever again. But in trying so hard to not let anyone feel hurt, I accidentally hurt myself by withholding my truth, my boundaries, and my voice. And ironically, the more I overgave, the less connected I felt. This couldn’t last long. It was untrue to who I was. Thankfully, learning to love myself never stopped, it just evolved.

I had to find the balance between honoring my needs and honoring the people I love. Empathy didn’t need to silence my truth. Honesty didn’t need to be harsh. Boundaries didn’t need to be walls.

Somewhere between growing up, growing wiser, and growing softer, something settled into place. I learned, and now understand, that you can love yourself first and still love others deeply. You can prioritize your feelings without disregarding theirs. You can be honest and kind in the same breath.

Today, the love I have for myself hasn’t dimmed, it’s expanded. That means the way I love others has expanded, too. I look at my fiancé, my brother, my friends, my family…and I feel this fullness. Not the performative kind of love, not the “I’ll empty myself for you” kind, but the real, grounded kind.

And because I’m not running on empty, I no longer fear being taken for granted. I no longer need to dim myself to keep the peace. I no longer confuse self-love with self-prioritization at the expense of others. I’m not perfect by any means, but I can see my growth.

Here’s what I know now: We have to put ourselves first. Not because it’s trendy. Not because it sounds empowering. But because it’s the only way to love from a place we’re proud of. You can’t pour from an empty cup, and you shouldn’t try to. If you don’t prioritize your own happiness, your love for others comes from a place of depletion, resentment, or obligation. That isn’t the kind of love any of us want to give.

So, as we celebrate love on Valentine’s Day, let’s make sure our own self-love is included in that celebration! I’d love to hear how you show love to yourself. Drop a comment below to share!