This Week’s Reflection: Self-Care Begins With Knowing Yourself

Life has a way of showing you what you need to see—if you’re paying attention. I had no idea, when I asked the question “What is self-care?” in Sunday Shorts last week, what would be put in my path. It became a recurring theme, shown through different forms of love—for others, for friends, and even for myself. Stories that, in their own way, all led to self-reflection—for everyone involved. And through them, a quiet correlation kept rising to the surface: the importance of knowing yourself.

The Traits We Were Taught to Tame

Some of the most misunderstood parts of us aren’t soft at all.

They’re the bold ones. The kids who spoke up when something felt off. The ones who questioned authority and got labeled “difficult.” The ones who wouldn’t laugh just because the group did. Who lost respect for adults who hadn’t earned it—and showed it. Who asked hard questions and refused to accept “because I said so” as an answer.

Those traits often made adults uncomfortable. Why? Because they forced a pause. A mirror. A reckoning. And for that, many of us were taught to tuck those parts away.

But the truth is, those were never flaws.

They were signs of clarity. Integrity. Strength.

And when you look closely, you start to see how those same traits—once called too much or too loud or too stubborn—can also become the foundation for something deeply loyal. Protective. Honest.
The kind of love that sees clearly and holds steady.

That clarity showed up in unexpected ways this week.

What This Week Showed Me About Love

This week, love was everywhere. Not loud or theatrical—but front and center, woven into moments, people, and presence.

There was the kind of love that worried over someone—really worried. Friends and family circling a relationship, unsure whether to speak or stay silent, wanting to protect but not control. The kind that hovers quietly on the edge of your choices, hoping you’ll choose yourself.

There was the quiet fear tucked behind medical test results—and surgery. The kind of fear that settles into the in-between moments. The drive there. The wait. The space between updates.

And in that space, people showed up—not with platitudes, but with presence. Some texted. Some called. A few sat beside me and filled the air with small stories, enough to keep my mind from spinning into places that wouldn’t serve me. They were concerned for him, yes—but they were also caring for me. In real time. Gently keeping me tethered to the present, breath by breath.

And at the center of it all was a love story that felt both grounding and extraordinary.

A friend of mine recently lost her husband. But what she had with him wasn’t just a marriage—it was a partnership forged in clarity. Two people who knew themselves well enough to recognize the right person when they saw them. Their love didn’t demand the spotlight, but it didn’t need to. It was felt. Lived. Known.

Their children spoke of it—their respect, their humor, their ease with each other. The way they showed up for people. Their love wasn’t something they hoarded; it overflowed. Through acts of service. Through wisdom shared. Through the quiet, everyday way they made others feel seen.

As I reflect back on this week—and everything I was shown—I find my self-care question quietly being answered.

It’s in the quiet moments. The bravery to feel difficult emotions you desperately wish would pass. It’s putting words to feelings, and seeing the truth behind actions—their root, their impact, their intention.

As a parent, it reminded me how important it is to hold space for our kids during their worst moments. But also, how incredibly vital our role is in shaping who they’re becoming. The long-term effects it can have on their development—and our relationships—go deeper than we sometimes allow ourselves to admit.

Because in the end, self-care is simply taking the time to understand yourself—to process your thoughts and emotions, and to put life back into perspective. However you get there—journaling, walking, a long soak in the tub—what matters is giving yourself space to reconnect and understand what’s really going on inside.

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