Self-Care as Survival, Not Self-Indulgence
Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation. — Audre Lorde
—What lingers after this line?
One-minute reflection
What does this quote ask you to notice today?
Reframing the Meaning of Self-Care
Audre Lorde’s line begins by challenging a common moral reflex: the suspicion that attending to one’s own needs is frivolous or selfish. By drawing a sharp boundary between “self-indulgence” and “self-preservation,” she reframes care as a necessity rather than a luxury, especially when life is demanding or precarious. This shift in framing matters because language shapes permission. Once self-care is understood as preservation, rest, medical attention, and emotional boundaries become part of staying alive and functional—less like a treat and more like food, sleep, or clean water.
The Political Weight Behind the Statement
From that foundation, Lorde’s quote moves beyond personal wellness into the realm of power. In “A Burst of Light” (1988), she writes that caring for herself “is an act of political warfare,” signaling that self-preservation can be a form of resistance when systems expect certain people to endure without complaint. In other words, the statement is not merely therapeutic; it is strategic. When communities face racism, sexism, homophobia, economic exploitation, or chronic marginalization, the demand to keep producing while ignoring pain becomes a tool of control. Lorde insists that survival itself can be a deliberate refusal to be depleted.
Burnout and the Cost of Constant Giving
Building on the political dimension, the quote also speaks to a familiar psychological pattern: the expectation to be endlessly available. Many people—caregivers, organizers, parents, professionals—learn to equate worth with output, so they postpone rest until it becomes impossible to avoid. The result is often burnout: emotional exhaustion, cynicism, and a reduced sense of effectiveness. Seen through Lorde’s lens, burnout isn’t a personal weakness; it’s a predictable outcome of sustained overextension. Self-preservation then becomes the corrective: not a reward for finishing everything, but a maintenance practice that prevents collapse and allows care for others to remain genuine rather than resentful.
Boundaries as a Survival Skill
If self-care is preservation, then boundaries are the infrastructure that makes it possible. Saying no, limiting access, and choosing where to place attention are not acts of coldness; they are ways of protecting finite time, energy, and health. Lorde’s distinction helps explain why boundaries can feel morally complicated: people often label them “selfish” when they interrupt others’ expectations. Yet preservation requires selectivity. Much like a city rationing water during a drought, a person under stress must allocate resources wisely. Boundaries keep the self intact so that commitments—work, love, activism, artistry—can be sustained rather than sacrificed to depletion.
Self-Preservation as Community Care
From there, an important transition follows: preserving the self can support the collective. When one person models rest, therapy, medical checkups, or stepping back from harmful dynamics, it can normalize healthier norms for a whole group. In many movements and workplaces, the culture of martyrdom spreads quickly; so can the culture of sustainability. Lorde’s insight suggests that self-care is not a withdrawal from responsibility but a way to remain responsibly present. A community that expects people to break is fragile; a community that expects people to recover is resilient. Preservation, then, is not a private luxury—it’s part of long-term solidarity.
Practicing Self-Care Without Losing Its Point
Finally, Lorde’s quote cautions against reducing self-care to aesthetics or consumer habits. While pleasures can be restorative, preservation is measured by whether it actually protects life and capacity: sleep, nutrition, safer relationships, support networks, medical care, and time away from harm. The goal is not perfection but continuity—staying well enough to continue. In practice, this can look ordinary: leaving an abusive conversation, turning off a phone at night, asking for help, or taking a day to recover without apology. Lorde’s sentence gives these choices a clear moral logic: survival is not indulgence, and maintaining oneself is a legitimate, necessary act.