Why You Should Be “Selfish”

Artwork by Terra Sutton

Have you ever noticed how some people hold an almost magnetic control over their surroundings, not by being loud or demanding, but simply by withdrawing? They don’t need to argue or explain. They go quiet. They step back. And suddenly, everything starts shifting. People begin to notice. Some panic. Some chase. Some question. The energy moves without a single word spoken.

Now imagine if you did the same. What if, instead of reacting instantly to everything around you, you chose to pause? What if silence became your first response, instead of urgency or apology? What if, rather than explaining yourself, you simply didn’t show up where your spirit was no longer celebrated? That shift is subtle, powerful, intentional. A radical act of self-respect.

Carl Jung once said, “Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to a better understanding of ourselves.” That quote has lived in the back of my mind for a long time. It’s a reminder that the discomfort we trigger in others when we begin to protect our peace is often more about them than it is about us. When you stop showing up on demand emotionally, mentally, even physically you’ll begin to see who really values you and who was just benefiting from your availability.

As creatives, as artists, as people who feel deeply and give freely, we often don’t notice how much of ourselves we’ve handed over until we’re already drained. We’ve been conditioned to believe that saying “yes” is the polite thing, that being constantly accessible is love, that giving without boundaries is noble. But let me tell you the truth no one really says out loud: over-giving isn’t kindness. It’s self-abandonment in disguise.

Jung talked about the “persona”, the mask we wear to be accepted by society. That mask says, “I’m fine,” even when you’re exhausted. It says, “Sure, I can do that,” when your soul is screaming for rest. And the longer you wear that mask, the more disconnected you become from the real you underneath. You give pieces of yourself away just to maintain an image, to avoid conflict, to keep the peace. But what about your peace?

When you start to pull back, to reclaim that energy, everything begins to recalibrate. People who once relied on your immediate response may grow irritated. They’ll say you’ve changed. They’ll label your new boundaries as arrogance, coldness, or distance. But here’s what’s really happening: the power dynamic is shifting. The version of you that was comfortable with the one who always said “yes,” who never asked for space is no longer available. And that makes people uncomfortable. But discomfort isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes it’s just growing pains, for you and for them.

You don’t have to be cruel to create space. You just have to be clear. You don’t have to explain why you need solitude. You simply have to honor the fact that you do. Jung believed that “individuation” , the process of becoming a whole and authentic self, often requires solitude. Not loneliness, but intentional isolation. Space where clarity returns, where your thoughts are your own again, where your nervous system isn’t being hijacked by someone else’s urgency.

There’s something sacred about choosing silence over reaction. When you stop explaining yourself to everyone, when you let the noise pass without jumping into it, you begin to see everything with new eyes. You notice who really checks in on you, and who only reaches out when they need something. You recognize the subtle ways you’ve been manipulated or emotionally baited in the past. And best of all, you stop feeling the need to perform. You start to feel free.

It’s not about becoming emotionally unavailable. It’s about becoming emotionally discerning. You still love, still give, still care, but from a place of fullness, not depletion. You speak when it matters. You create when it calls you. You no longer feel guilty for not showing up to every crisis, every request, every text.

Some people will fall away. That’s okay. Let them. The ones who truly see you the whole, evolved, inwardly-alive version of you will remain. They will meet you where you are, not where they can use you.

The most profound transformation happens not when we add more to our lives, but when we take things away. The noise. The obligations. The expectations. And what’s left? Stillness. Power. Presence.

You don’t owe anyone your constant accessibility. You don’t have to answer every message, show up for every plan, or explain every “no.” You’re allowed to exist for yourself now. You’re allowed to protect the version of you that’s still unfolding. This is your rebirth: quiet, rooted, unapologetically whole.

And it starts with one simple choice: to be just a little more unavailable.

Best Wishes, 

Muskaan Rudhra