How I'm Learning to Choose Myself Without Feeling Guilty
Year 39 - Tuesday, June 30, 2026 - 8:36 P.M.
The Mental Health of a Millennial
For years, I’ve joked that my thirties were going to be my selfish era. I said it so often that it became one of those things I just accepted as true. After spending so much of my younger years trying to meet expectations—my own and everyone else’s—I wanted this decade to be about learning how to choose myself.
Tonight, though, I had a different thought.
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I don’t think ten years is enough.
As I get closer to forty, I’m realizing that what I once called my “selfish era” isn’t really about being selfish at all. It’s about finally becoming comfortable making decisions that honor my own needs without feeling guilty for it. And if I’m honest, I think I’m going to need a little more time to keep practicing.
When I think about my life so far, each decade feels like it had its own assignment.
My teenage years revolved around friendships, crushes, and trying to figure out where I fit in. So much of that time was spent wondering what other people thought of me and hoping I belonged somewhere.
My twenties felt like they came with a checklist. Get the degree. Start the career. Find the relationship. Get married. Buy the house. Have the baby. Whether those expectations came from society, family, or myself, I spent so much of that decade measuring my life against an invisible timeline. I was always wondering if I was behind or if I was doing enough.
Looking back, I don’t regret any of it. Those experiences shaped who I am. But somewhere along the way, I realized I had spent years making decisions based on what I thought adulthood was supposed to look like instead of asking myself what kind of life actually felt right for me.
Then my thirties happened.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped asking for permission to take myself seriously.
I’ve gotten better at speaking up in rooms where I used to stay quiet, even if I’m not where I want to be yet. I stopped assuming that everyone else always knew better than I did. If something doesn’t feel right, I’ve learned to trust my gut and say no. If I disagree, I can respect someone else’s point of view, even when I don’t fully understand it. Even sitting in a doctor’s office, I’ve learned that advocating for myself isn’t being difficult—it’s being responsible.
I’ve also become much more protective of my time, my energy, and my peace. I don’t say yes simply because someone asked. I don’t feel obligated to explain every decision I make. And while I’m still learning, I’ve realized that boundaries aren’t walls meant to keep people out. They’re how I make sure I don’t lose myself trying to be everything for everyone else.
I don’t think that version of me would’ve existed in my twenties. She was too busy trying to get it right. The version of me I’m becoming is much more interested in living a life that actually feels right.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about this conversation I keep seeing online about community.
People say they want a village, but they don’t always understand that being part of a village means becoming a villager too. It means showing up. It means being available. It means allowing your life to be interrupted sometimes because someone else needs you.
I don’t disagree with that.
I just don’t think that’s the season I’m in.
At least not right now.
Right now, I don’t want to be inconvenienced outside of the things that are already required of me. And I know that may not sound warm or generous, but it feels honest. I don’t want to pretend I have endless capacity when I don’t.
I think what makes this season different is that I’ve become more aware of my limits.
There are already things in my life that require me to show up, whether I feel like it or not. Work isn’t optional. Responsibilities aren’t optional. The people and commitments that matter most deserve the best of me.
By the time I finally have a moment that’s completely mine, I want to spend it however I choose. Sometimes that means cooking a good meal. Sometimes it means reading a book or checking out a local event here in Palm Beach County. Sometimes it means doing absolutely nothing at all.
For a long time, I felt like I had to justify protecting that time. Now I’m starting to believe that I don’t. Rest doesn’t have to be earned, and peace doesn’t have to be explained.
Maybe that’s what I’ve been learning all along—not how to do more, but how to be more intentional with what I say yes to.
Maybe I’ve been using the wrong word all along.
I’ve called this my selfish era for years, but I don’t think selfish is the right word anymore.
When I think of someone who’s selfish, I think of someone who only cares about themselves, ignores the needs of others, and takes more than they give. That’s not who I’m trying to become.
What I’m really trying to do is protect the parts of myself that I’ve spent so many years neglecting—my time, my energy, my health, and my peace. I’m learning that choosing myself doesn’t automatically mean I’m choosing against someone else.
Maybe that’s the lesson I’ve been trying to learn all along.
Not how to become a selfish person.
But how to become someone who no longer feels guilty for taking care of herself.
So maybe I was wrong.
Maybe my thirties weren’t my selfish era.
Maybe they were just the beginning.
As I get closer to forty, I’m realizing that I don’t have everything figured out, and I don’t think I’m supposed to. If anything, I’ve become more comfortable admitting that I’m still learning who I am, what matters to me, and what kind of life I want to build.
Maybe I’ll need another ten years.
Not because I’m trying to shut the world out, but because I’m finally learning how to let myself in.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m not in a hurry to finish this season before the next one begins.
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