You Can’t Pour From an Empty Heart, No Matter How Strong You Are
There is a certain kind of strength that is admired in this world. The strength of the person who keeps going no matter what they are carrying. The one who holds everything together for everyone else. The one who shows up even when they are exhausted. The one who listens, supports, and gives without pause. People praise that kind of strength. They applaud it. They rely on it. And slowly, without even realizing it, you begin to believe that your worth is tied to how much you can carry.
So you learn to be the strong one. The steady one. The person others turn to when they feel weak. You learn to swallow your own feelings so you can hold space for theirs. You learn to sacrifice rest so you can show up one more time. You learn to ignore the quiet ache in your heart that is asking for something softer, something slower, something gentle.
But that version of strength has a cost.
Because even the strongest heart can run empty.
In Why I Love Being in Love With Myself, there is a line that speaks directly to this truth:
There comes a moment when your spirit begins to whisper what your mind has been avoiding. It sounds like fatigue that doesn’t go away. It feels like irritability where there used to be patience. It shows up as numbness where there used to be care. These are not signs that you are failing. They are signs that you have given too much without receiving enough in return. They are signs that you have abandoned yourself in the name of love.
Self-abandonment is often misunderstood as generosity. People say things like, “You are so strong. You always know what to do. You are always there.” And those words feel warm for a moment, but they do not refill you. Praise does not restore you. Endurance is not nourishment.
When you love others from a place of depletion, you are pouring from what you need to survive. You are giving away the exact thing your heart is craving. And when that becomes your pattern, love begins to feel heavy. Connection starts to feel draining instead of fulfilling. You begin to resent the very people you care about, not because of who they are, but because you have forgotten how to include yourself in the love you give.
Loving yourself is not about choosing yourself instead of others. It is about choosing yourself too. It is allowing your needs to matter. It is letting your heart be considered in the decisions you make. It is understanding that care must flow inward before it travels outward. When your heart is nourished, your love becomes softer. When your spirit is rested, your presence becomes warmer. When you are filled, what you give is genuine, steady, abundant.
This is why choosing yourself before you are empty is not selfish.
It is wisdom.
It is sustainability.
It is the only way love continues without wounding you.
You were not meant to live burnt out.
You were not meant to feel like love is a weight you must carry alone.
You were not meant to break yourself to be appreciated.
You are allowed to rest before you are depleted.
You are allowed to receive care without earning it through exhaustion.
You are allowed to be held, supported, nourished, and restored.
You do not have to prove your strength by suffering.
You do not have to prove your worth by enduring.
You do not have to earn rest.
You deserve care too.
