Why It’s Harder to Help Myself

It’s always been easier for me to show up for other people.

To sit with their uncertainty.

To build their websites.

To hold space for their process.

But when it comes to myself?

I hesitate. I freeze. I avoid.

At first, I thought it was just a time thing. Or maybe a capacity thing.

But lately, I’ve been wondering if it’s something deeper.

Bella once said that sometimes, our minds feel safer in the unknown.

That not knowing can feel like protection.

Like avoiding the doctor because the diagnosis might be worse than the worry.

I haven’t stopped thinking about that.

I’m someone who craves clarity. I want to understand. To name. To navigate.

But what if part of me is more comfortable not knowing?

What if keeping my own needs vague feels safer than actually tending to them?

I’ve always known I struggle to prioritize myself.

Especially as a woman who left a high-control environment, where self-denial was framed as virtue.

Where taking care of others was holy. And listening to yourself was dangerous.

So of course it’s easier to help someone else.

Of course it’s easier to spend hours refining someone else’s voice, someone else’s vision, someone else’s story.

Because mine is still tender. Still unfolding.

But I’m learning to stay.

To sit with the discomfort of my own process.

To listen to the quiet parts that don’t yet have language.

To show up for myself the way I do for others—not with urgency, but with presence.

This season, I’m practicing what I so often offer to others:

Patience. Curiosity. Permission.

Not to fix or finish anything.

Just to be with what’s real.