When Self-Care Feels Uncomfortable

I was supposed to be at my Bold Moves coaching session.

I'd rearranged work weeks ago so I wouldn't miss it and I was really looking forward to going.

A few days before the session, I'd developed a cough and a few other symptoms. Nothing major. In fact, I actually felt okay.

And that's where things became interesting.

One part of me was saying, "You're fine. Just go."

The other was quietly asking, "What if it's a virus? What if you pass it on to someone else?"

I sat with those thoughts for a while before deciding not to go. I sent the message, closed my phone and thought that would be the end of it.

It wasn't. Almost immediately, the guilt crept in. I'd committed to being there. I'd swapped shifts to make it happen. I hardly ever get ill. Surely I should just push through?

As I sat with those uncomfortable feelings, I realised they felt strangely familiar.

Not because I was missing one coaching session.

But because I'd spent years believing that if I was physically able to keep going... then I should.

Looking back, that belief has quietly followed me through so much of my life.

Work.

Relationships.

Family.

And even socialising.

If friends were going out, I'd often convince myself I was well enough to go. Partly because I genuinely love spending time with people.

But if I'm honest, there was probably a little fear of missing out too. So I'd push through, telling myself I'd rest tomorrow.

Sometimes I was absolutely fine. Other times, I probably just needed to be at home.

Looking back now, I can see it wasn't really about the night out. It was about the habit of putting my own needs slightly lower on the list.

Years ago, after two heart procedures, I became seriously ill with pneumonia and respiratory failure. Recovery took years, and I still live with some of the effects today.

For a long time, I put it down to bad luck. Maybe it was. But I also can't ignore the life I was living back then.

One where slowing down rarely felt like an option.

One where looking after everyone else came naturally, but looking after myself felt uncomfortable.

Then another memory surfaced.

A few days earlier, someone had asked if I could swap a work shift. Normally, I'd have said yes before they'd even finished asking.

This time, I paused. I already had plans. Plans that supported my own wellbeing.

So I said no.

It was the right decision. Yet afterwards, I felt emotional.

Isn't that strange?

Doing something healthy, felt uncomfortable.

And that's when something clicked.

Maybe the discomfort wasn't a sign I was doing the wrong thing.

Maybe it was simply a sign I was doing something different.

For years, my instinct had been to push through. 

This time, I was weighing up the risks.

Listening to my body.

Thinking about other people.

Trusting myself enough to make a decision, even though it didn't feel comfortable.

That isn't weakness.

It's growth.

Later that day, I went for a gentle walk. I put my headphones in and spent some time in the sauna.

Not because someone told me that's what self-care should look like.

Because I know that's what helps me reconnect with myself.

For someone else, it might be a quiet evening on the sofa.

An early night.

A good book.

That's the thing about self-care.

It doesn't come with a universal instruction manual.

It's deeply personal.

As I reflected on the day, I realised my biggest lesson had nothing to do with illness. I wasn't learning how to say no, I was learning how to trust myself.

And perhaps that's what self-care really is.

Not bubble baths or scented candles.

Not earning a rest after proving your worth.

But quietly making decisions that align with your values, even when your old conditioning whispers that you should keep pushing.

Because sometimes the bravest thing we can do isn't carry on.

Sometimes it's simply to pause and ask ourselves what we really need.

Have you ever noticed that doing the healthiest thing for yourself can actually feel uncomfortable?

Or perhaps you've pushed through work, social plans or other commitments because you didn't want to let people down or miss out.

I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

Sue 💛