Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation. — Audre Lorde
—What lingers after this line?
One-minute reflection
Why might this line matter today, not tomorrow?
Reframing Care as Necessity
Audre Lorde’s line begins by overturning a familiar accusation: that attending to one’s own needs is frivolous or vain. By naming self-care “self-preservation,” she shifts it from the realm of luxury into the realm of necessity—closer to eating, resting, and healing than to pampering. This reframing matters because the word “indulgence” implies excess, while “preservation” implies protection against harm. In that contrast, Lorde suggests a moral clarity: you are not abandoning others when you tend to yourself; you are ensuring you remain intact enough to live, work, and love.
A Political Context for Survival
Moving from personal meaning to public stakes, Lorde’s statement also carries a political charge. In her speech “A Burst of Light” (1988), she explicitly frames self-care as “an act of political warfare,” a phrase rooted in the realities of racism, sexism, homophobia, and illness that can grind people down. Seen in that light, self-care is not a retreat from the world but a strategy for staying in it. For those expected to absorb disproportionate stress while remaining endlessly productive, preservation becomes resistance: refusing to be consumed by systems that benefit from your exhaustion.
The Myth of Selfishness and Guilt
From there, Lorde’s quote challenges the guilt many people feel when they set limits. If you’ve been taught that worth is proven through overgiving—at work, in family roles, in caregiving—then rest can feel like betrayal, even when your body signals danger. Yet guilt is often a sign of conditioning rather than wrongdoing. By insisting on self-preservation, Lorde offers a counter-rule: protecting your mental and physical health is a legitimate priority. That permission helps disentangle compassion from self-erasure, making room for care that does not require self-destruction.
Boundaries as a Form of Care
Once self-care is understood as preservation, boundaries become its practical language. Saying no, ending harmful conversations, limiting availability, or seeking distance from draining environments can look harsh from the outside, but they are often the very actions that prevent burnout and resentment. Importantly, boundaries are not walls meant to punish others; they are guardrails meant to keep you functional and safe. In many lives, preservation looks ordinary: turning off notifications, declining an extra shift, or choosing sleep over one more obligation—small acts that collectively protect a person’s future.
Health, Trauma, and the Body’s Warning System
Continuing deeper, Lorde’s language resonates with the body’s role in survival. Chronic stress is not merely an attitude problem; it has consequences that show up in fatigue, immune strain, anxiety, and depression. Lorde, writing while living with cancer, knew intimately that the body keeps score and eventually demands attention. Self-preservation, then, is listening to early warnings rather than waiting for collapse. Therapy, medical care, movement, and rest are not rewards for finishing everything—they are maintenance for a life that cannot be postponed until conditions become kinder.
Sustainable Care for Others
Finally, the quote closes the loop between self and community. Paradoxically, preserving yourself can increase what you are able to offer others, because it replaces crisis-driven giving with sustainable presence. A burned-out helper may be physically present yet emotionally absent; a preserved person can show up with steadiness. Lorde’s point is not that self-care is the only duty, but that without it, every other duty becomes fragile. By treating your wellbeing as something worth protecting, you cultivate a life that can endure—and that endurance can become a quiet, ongoing gift to the people and causes you love.