Why We Must Self-Preserve
This past week was the last week of semester one. And on Thursday, I had the last of one of my favorite classes. In this class my professor left us with a final note. Something so bittersweet, so grounding. She always talked eloquently during her lectures, so much so that I made observations of it during each class. But what she said on this day felt different. It came so suddenly in our conversation and sounded of reflection, but still managed to be so pure and genuine. Immediately I could sense it was some sort of advice relating to the time in our lives; this short phase of life; the act of maturity; the pace of growing up; the period of moving on. Since Thursday, it’s been ever so lingering within me.
She softly said, self-preservation is the utmost important thing you can do for yourself, and really for the world. If you cannot self-preserve, then who are you preserving yourself for? If you don’t remember anything, remember this. You are your greatest asset and your greatest gift.
At first the phrase felt almost too scriptural. I had to think about it, internalize it, repeat it over to myself. “Self-preservation,” what is that? What does that mean? Was she telling us to have survival instincts? Like bracing for a tremendous impact? Or did she mean to simply inspire us to spend time alone? To find ourselves? To put ourselves first? And if she did, would that not be all too cliche?
The more I thought about it, the more I realized how wrong I was. She meant none of the above. She meant something more motherly, more devoted. It was a pleading wish, from her to her students. She wished for us to save the best parts of ourselves for ourselves, and ourselves alone. She wished for us to see that the act of saving ourselves was not about hiding from the world or turning inward to find answers. It was about acceptance of authenticity; protecting the core of who you are so life cannot penetrate nor erode you into someone you do not recognize at the burning hands of the else.
We are taught in childhood to be selfless in how we constantly show up for others. To be dependable, and compassionate, and generous, and giving. To not think of ourselves at all. Then in adolescence, we are told to prioritize finding ourselves. We go on aimless goose hunts inside of ourselves and then indistinctly try on the facades of others. We get lost looking for someone who was obviously already there. And in adulthood, we are expected to again, be selfless. Build a family full of children, take care of our parents, come home, sculpt meaningful friendships. And all the while, no one tells us how impossible it is to do any of that if you are not there for yourself first, and during, and always, and at last. How utterly impossible it is to be someone’s anchor if you’re untethered, if you have no roots, if you are lost. To pour into people, into a career or into a relationship, when you are running on whatever last drop of you you might not even recognize or realize you were hoarding.
Self-preservation, as my Professor intended, is quiet. She said it was a connection to oneself, not out of selfishness or pretentiousness, but to be reminded of what, or more so who, is here. Sometimes self-preservation looks like less talking out loud: less explaining, less proving, less justifying your worth, less looking, less approval. It is contentment in realizing that you deserve to be the first person who hears your own voice inside of your own head. The first person you try to understand. The first person you give the benefit of the doubt. The first person you protect. The first person you criticize. The first person you fall in love with. As she said, we are our greatest gifts, meant to be savored by people closest to us…but who are closer to us, than us.
Self-preservation, in my eyes as an extension of what my Professor meant, might also mean learning to accept that others can love you too, and that their love does not erase your own. It does not have to be one or the other. It can be both! Their love, their remembering, are additions to and reflections of what you already know. What you already believe.
Preserving yourself means you stop letting life, or people, chip away at the parts of you that matter most. It is guarding your humor and the way you see the world. It is sustenance.
My professor wished for us to hold onto ourselves in the running rapids that are college, and then in the monsoons of life. She wished for us to remember that if we don’t protect the people we are becoming, the world might shape us all by accident, or maliciously on purpose. If we learn now to preserve ourselves, not always prioritize but preserve, we can remain ours entirely. And from that place, we can finally give to others without losing ourselves in the process. She wished for us to not look, not find, not preach, but remember. Remember we are here, and in her eyes but most importantly in our own, we are gifts of independence and individuality.