On Self-Tending

There was a time when care felt conditional. Attention arrived wrapped in judgment, and listening to my body felt like a liability instead of wisdom.

Over time, I learned to steadily move past my own needs. One small dismissal at a time to the point of forgetting I was worthy of care. This lasted until I became internally and physically exhausted by self-neglect. Through deep unlearning, something began to emerge. At first I thought it was self-love, then perhaps self-worth, or maybe even self-care. It was none of those. Instead what growing was the desire for self-tending.

Self-tending doesn’t ask me to feel differently about myself.

It does not require belief, confidence, or affirmation.

It asks only that I notice.

Dry hands.

Tired feet.

A face that wants gentleness.

Hair that needs patience.

A nervous system that softens when slow weekends are kept sacred. When I tend myself, I am not proving anything. I am responding to my body’s needs.

I learned that the body learns quickly when it is no longer argued with. The inside follows the outside, not because it must, but because it finally trusts the sequence.

Self-tending feels honest.

It feels doable.

It feels like something I can keep.

Like a garden, I am tending what is alive.

Reflection Question

Where in my life am I ready to respond gently instead of evaluate or criticize?