Self-care. Even the words used to make me feel a little guilty… as if taking time for myself meant I had somehow misplaced my cape while the rest of the world waited to be rescued.

So many of us are wired as women, mothers, and caretakers to notice everyone else’s needs before our own. We pour the coffee, remember the appointments, carry the worries, and keep moving. Often, we do not realize how overwhelmed we are until life finally grows quiet and to be honest, even then, we may rush to fill the silence.

For most of my life, I was a single mom. I poured my energy into raising my children, caring for my grandparents, and tending to the people I loved. My own care was often an afterthought, the item at the bottom of a list that never seemed to end. If there was any time left over, I might have claimed it, but there rarely was.

Living has taught me what guilt once tried to hide: self-care is not selfish. It is necessary. The time I make for myself is a gift… one I give myself and one I believe has been offered to me through God’s grace and mercy. As I have grown older, my faith has deepened, and so has my understanding that rest is not a reward for finishing everything. Sometimes, rest is how we find the strength to continue.

I begin my day slowly now. I sit with my coffee and look toward a bird feeder that hosts a bright gathering of redbirds and a couple of squirrels who appear to have trained with a traveling circus. Their acrobatics tickle my heart. The birds feel quieter, almost sacred—as if the people I have loved and lost have stopped by to say hello.

Beyond them, the woods seem to whisper the secrets of the world to my soul. Some days I feel almost lost in the green. Moss sways in the breeze, and the haze of the world loosens its hold. In that stillness, my heart and soul have room to breathe.

I walk, walk my way back to myself…  I put on my hiking shoes and step out into the world. Sometimes I wander through nearby parks or trails. More often, I walk across my own acres, into the surrounding woods, and along the dirt road. I look around me, but I also remember to look down.

There is creation at its smallest beneath my feet. Wildflowers, tiny creatures, and overlooked wonders that some people find annoying and others never notice at all. Paying attention to them quiets the noise inside me. I can hear my own heart again. Calm returns, and sometimes the answers I have been chasing arrive without being chased.

Not every act of self-care is quiet or solemn. Sometimes it means calling my “old woman” friend and going out to eat. We roam through thrift stores, ride the roads around us, and see what there is to see. There is medicine in laughter, in friendship, and in an unhurried afternoon with no grand purpose.

Sometimes self-care is a book or a magazine. Twice each day, it is my devotions and my Bible. These moments remind me to listen to the voice inside me, to give it room to breathe, and to offer myself the same grace and mercy that God gives so freely.

Self-care looks different for each of us. For me, it is the practice of listening inward, trusting God, and remembering that no matter what road I am walking, I will get through it. I no longer believe I must carry every stress and ache of this life as heavily as possible to prove that I care.

Life is meant to be lived, and living fully requires rest. We need time to smell the roses, and, yes, to pull a few weeds. We need to see the world in all its glory without letting its weight settle too deeply into our bones.

Making time for myself does not mean I love others less. It means I have finally learned to include myself among the people worthy of my care.