In many cultures, it is both an act of kindness and a sign of respect to fill the other cups on the table first, before your own.
These days, however, I find my arm growing weary and my water supply running alarmingly low. Yet, I find myself extending invitations to seats at my table, offering water I don’t have, practicing a kindness I don’t show to myself.
As the only child of immigrants living in a Christian household, I have grown up in an environment that breeds the ultimate people pleaser. I speak loudly with assertiveness to make up for what I lack in stature. I am careful and deliberate because I cannot afford the luxury of recklessness and rebelliousness.
And with that lethal mosaic that constructs every fibre of my being, I have learned that being kind is not a trait you are born with—it is an active practice in decision-making. With each time you are kind, you choose to be, consciously or subconsciously.
I know what it feels like to be unheard, unwanted, uninvited, and so I’ve made a promise—not to myself, but to the younger me—to always go out of my way to never make someone feel the way I once did.
And yet, all these years later, I realized that by making others feel welcome, worthy, and wanted, I have neglected those very same courtesies toward myself. I cannot pinpoint the exact moment when this reality came to be, nor can I tell you how it happened. All I know is that somewhere along the way, my kindness became overextension, and my cup was running dry.
What I do know now, however, is that these acts of kindness may not be so explicitly noticeable. They exist in the small, tiny pockets of your everyday life, effortlessly and quietly, without a second thought—making efforts that go thankless, choosing patience over being right, showing up even when you’re exhausted, or when you forgive before you receive an apology.
These gestures, however small, might feel inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but their accumulation contributes to the inevitable landslide that you will find yourself slipping into. Slowly but surely, each time you say yes, you push your boundaries just a touch further.
You don’t make this realization until you’re too far gone, and you find yourself asking, “How did I get here?” or perhaps, “How did I let myself get here?” It is in this moment that you’ll feel as though you betrayed yourself—the thought, evidently, is quite debilitating.
How could I—someone who is more than capable of loving, caring, and forgiving—forget to extend that grace to myself?
The point of this article is not to encourage you to stop being kind to others. It instead urges you to extend the same kindness you so unquestioningly show them to yourself.
That kindness exists in the ways you care for yourself—when you take pride in your efforts, when you are patient with yourself, when you show up for yourself even if you don’t feel like it, and when you forgive yourself for not knowing, then what you understand now. It is only when you begin to show yourself kindness that you learn to respect yourself enough to consider your own needs in every decision you make.
As I said, this article is not meant to stop you from serving others before yourself, but to serve as a reminder that you, too, must sit and eat. Extend that very same kindness you so easily give to others to yourself.
It is easy to forget that all the good things you desire already exist within yourself. You can see it in the way you treat those around you.