



My investment in other people far outweighed my investment in myself. I was focused on the outcomes in someone else’s life. Focused on their needs, even on their pain. Some could say I was overly invested. Wrapped up in the other person. Do they have what they want? Are they happy? Pleased with me? Most of my focus was outward.
I had never learned how to guard my empathy or how to protect my sensitivity. No one guided me through my gifts of sensitivity or taught me how to navigate life as an empath. No one showed me how to work with my temperament and constitution. Instead, I was criticized for being “too sensitive.” My sensitivity became part of my psychic structure that I hid from everyone.
My training as a therapist fit perfectly with paying attention to the other person. I took classes that taught me how to perceive the shift in body language, the micro expressions and non-verbals. I survived seven years of psychologist training that fine-tuned my attention to the pain and feelings of the patient. It came naturally to me, but the education heightened my level of attention. None of the instructors, mentors, or supervisors spoke of how to protect our sensitivity. Instead we were instructed to “have boundaries” and to engage in self-care but no supervisor or educator identified us highly sensitive ones.

Much of my energy has been focused outward. I was blind to the bankruptcy of my soul. I was giving all of me to the people in my life. All of my resources. All of my time. All of my energy. All of my care. I saved very little for myself. Maybe it would have not been as problematic if my relationships were as equally invested in me.
I used all my time off to see family, traveling across the country to get there. In return, they took vacations where they wanted and never seemed to think of me. This was their right of course. It was not their problem that I was overly invested, believing that my efforts would result in a closer relationship. This was magical thinking on my part because my needs weren’t as important to the other person.
The worst part was I did this to myself. No one had really asked me to meet their needs. To go out of my way. No one was requiring me to give myself away. Instead I took it upon myself.

Growing up in an emotionally immature family, I was adept at sensing the needs of others and running in to be helpful or kind or whatever the person needed me to be. I met the needs of the adults in my life, sensing the pressure to do so. When I was a child, this seemed to be a prerequisite to getting the love I needed. But in adulthood, no one asked me and it was been my fault. No one forced me into this arrangement. And it was up to me to break this pattern.
Self-care is investing in yourself. It is directing some of your care and attention to your self. Not giving all that you have away. Not gathering up good for yourself only to give it all away and be depleted once again.
Initially this felt selfish to me. I had to sort out the idea of selfishness. To be honest, I still hear a voice that whispers “You are selfish when you say this.” Or “How dare you withhold care and empathy from others.” Thankfully it’s a whisper and not a shout.
Selfishness and self-abandonment are two sides of the same coin. Sprinkle in a bit of fawning and people pleasing and you have a mess. If we are terrified of being perceived as selfish or self-centered, the over-correction is self-abandonment. Who benefits from this arrangement? It definitely isn’t us.
I learned through disappointments and misalignments that I needed to take up more space. I needed to matter more to me. I needed to take vacations where I wanted. Live more of my own life, not the life that people expected from me. I needed to pull back and tamper my empathy, not because I don’t care but because my investment was unhealthy.

Taylor Swift said it best. “You need to think of your energy as if it’s expensive. Not everyone can afford it. Not everyone has invested in you in order to be able to have the capital for you to care about this.”
How do you invest in yourself? Does it match your investment in others? Could you increase your investment?
In a world that doesn’t respect empathy and judges sensitivity as a weakness, it is not selfish to invest in ourselves. Nor is it selfish to be careful of what we give energy to. It is a necessity, like air for breathing. If you are deeply empathic and highly sensitive, you must guard the flow of your energy, especially in places where it may be mishandled. This isn’t about not caring. It’s about how we express the care and what we get wrapped up in.
How I invest in myself: