There was a moment during one of my recent Unfiltered Leader sessions that stopped me in my tracks and I felt deserved a blog of its own.
Not because it was dramatic. Not because someone broke down crying. But because one woman answered a question with a level of honesty that I think every woman on that Zoom call felt in her bones.
We had been talking about something I believe wholeheartedly but still have to consciously practice myself—putting ourselves back on our own priority list.
Not somewhere near the bottom. Not squeezed in if there’s time left over after everyone else’s needs have been met. But at the very top.
Whenever I teach this concept, I use the same analogy you’ve heard a hundred times if you’ve ever flown on an airplane. Before takeoff, the flight attendant reminds you that if the cabin loses pressure, you are to secure your own oxygen mask before assisting anyone else.
For years I heard those words and thought, Well…that sounds selfish. Surely the loving thing to do would be to help the child beside you first. Or your spouse. Or the stranger who’s struggling.
But you don’t have to be a nurse to know that’s not how oxygen works. If you spend too long trying to make sure everyone else can breathe while you’re slowly running out of air yourself, eventually you pass out. Now no one gets help. Not them. Not you.
The same thing happens in our everyday lives. We become so consumed making sure everyone else’s needs are met that somewhere along the way, we quietly stop asking whether ours are.
The irony is that most of us aren’t trying to be martyrs. We’re just trying to be good people. Good mothers. Good leaders. Good wives. Good daughters. Good employees. Good friends.
Until one day we realize we’ve become everything for everyone…
…and almost nothing to ourselves.
Almost a year ago, I shared something on my podcast that completely changed the way I think about self-care. You’ve probably heard the phrase, “You can’t pour from an empty cup.” I believed that. Sort of. My version looked a little different.
I’d finally get a few drops back into my own cup—maybe a quiet moment, a compliment, a rare trip to the bathroom without interruptions—and almost immediately I’d pour those drops into someone else’s cup. I thought that’s what generous people did.
Then someone explained something so simple that I actually laughed. “Allie,” they said, “the point isn’t to keep refilling an empty cup just enough to give it away again. Your cup is supposed to stay full. What you give to other people is the overflow.”
Overflow. Not the last drop. That single shift completely changed how I viewed taking care of myself.
Because somewhere along the way, many of us began believing that depletion was proof of devotion. If we were exhausted, we must be doing enough. If we were overwhelmed, we must be important. If we never had time for ourselves, we must be selfless.
But that’s not leadership. That’s slow-motion burnout.
As our conversation continued during the session, I asked everyone a question. “What would change professionally and/or personally if you truly put yourself back on your own priority list?”
The answers were beautiful. More peace. More patience. Better boundaries. Less guilt. Then one woman quietly said something that changed the entire conversation. “My resentment would change.”
The room got quiet. Because every woman there understood exactly what she meant. We often think resentment is something someone else gives us.
Our boss overloaded us. Our spouse depends on us too much. Our kids need us constantly. Our coworkers keep asking for favors. Our friends are struggling and need added support.
But as we unpacked it together, she said something even more profound. “I do it to myself.” That wasn’t self-blame. It was self-awareness.
The requests may come from other people. The expectations may originate somewhere else. But we keep saying yes. We keep volunteering. We keep staying late. We keep fixing. We keep rescuing. We keep proving. We keep carrying.
And most importantly…We keep doing it silently. We don’t tell anyone we’re overwhelmed. We don’t ask for help. We don’t admit we don’t have the capacity. We don’t say, “I can’t take one more thing right now.”
We simply smile…and pick up another brick. Then another. Then another. Until eventually we’re carrying a load no human being could reasonably sustain.
And then the resentment begins. Not all at once. Quietly. It sneaks into our marriages when we feel like everyone else gets to rest but us. It sneaks into parenting when every request feels like one more thing on an already impossible list. It sneaks into leadership when another project lands on our desk and instead of speaking up, we grit our teeth and quietly add it to the pile. It sneaks into friendships when we’re always the one checking in, organizing, remembering birthdays, solving problems, and carrying emotional weight.
Resentment is rarely born from one big moment. It’s built one unspoken “yes” at a time. The heartbreaking part is that many of us wear our ability to carry impossible loads like a badge of honor. Strong. Dependable. Capable. The one everyone can count on.
Until one day we’re no longer proud. We’re just tired. Angry. Disconnected. And wondering why nobody seems to notice how much we’re carrying.
The truth is, they may not notice because we’ve unintentionally trained them not to. We’ve become so incredibly good at making impossible look effortless that people assume we’re fine.
Meanwhile, we’re quietly suffocating beneath expectations we helped create. That realization isn’t meant to shame us. It’s meant to free us. Because if we played a role in creating the pattern…We also have the power to change it.
Maybe the strongest thing a woman can say isn’t “I’ve got it.”
Maybe it’s…“I need help.” “I don’t have the capacity.” “I can’t take on another project.” “Not right now.” “I need some time for me.”
Those aren’t signs of weakness. They’re signs of emotional maturity. They’re the boundaries that keep resentment from poisoning the relationships we’re trying so hard to protect.
Putting yourself at the top of your priority list isn’t selfish. It’s stewardship. It’s making sure the person responsible for loving, leading, serving, nurturing, coaching, parenting, mentoring, and caring for everyone else is healthy enough to keep doing it.
Because when your cup is finally full…When your oxygen mask is securely in place…. You don’t have less to give. You actually have more. Not because you’re giving away your last drop. But because everyone you love finally gets to experience your overflow.
And maybe that’s what self-care was supposed to be all along.
