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 Self-Care’s Meaning
Audre Lorde’s statement turns a common accusation on its head: what some call “self-indulgence” may actually be the basic work of staying whole. By drawing a sharp line between luxury and necessity, she insists that care is not automatically selfish simply because it is directed inward. From there, the quote invites a more honest question—who benefits when people feel guilty for tending to their needs? Lorde’s reframing suggests that the moral weight often placed on self-care can function as social pressure, discouraging individuals from protecting their health, time, and dignity.
The Politics of Survival
Building on that shift in meaning, Lorde’s words also carry a political charge. In “A Burst of Light” (1988), she describes self-care as “an act of political warfare,” linking personal maintenance to resisting systems that profit from exhaustion and silence. Seen this way, self-preservation is not merely a private preference but a strategic stance: if you are worn down, you are easier to control, exploit, or ignore. By staying well enough to think, speak, and act, the individual keeps access to agency—especially when society subtly rewards self-neglect in the name of duty or toughness.
Why ‘Indulgence’ Is a Common Label
Next, it helps to notice how quickly care gets recast as excess. Rest, boundaries, therapy, or solitude can look like “extra” to someone who equates worth with productivity or sacrifice. In that environment, people are praised for overextending and shamed for pausing, even when the pause prevents collapse. This dynamic becomes clearer in everyday scenes: the worker who doesn’t answer messages at midnight is called uncommitted; the caregiver who asks for help is called dramatic. Lorde’s sentence cuts through these judgments by asserting that staying alive—physically and emotionally—is not a treat you earn but a condition you protect.
Self-Preservation as Boundary-Setting
With that in mind, self-care becomes less about pampering and more about boundaries. Boundaries are the practical edge of self-preservation: saying no, leaving harmful spaces, limiting contact, or refusing roles that demand constant depletion. These actions can feel uncomfortable precisely because they challenge expectations. Yet boundaries also clarify relationships by making needs visible. When someone stops volunteering for silent suffering, they force a renegotiation of what is acceptable. Lorde’s framing supports this shift: preserving the self is not a betrayal of others, but a refusal to disappear in service of them.
The Body’s Role in the Argument
Furthermore, Lorde’s emphasis on preservation recognizes the body as a site of truth. Sleep, nutrition, movement, and medical care are not aesthetic projects; they are survival supports. When these are neglected, the costs appear as burnout, illness, anxiety, or numbness—signals that “pushing through” has become unsustainable. This is why self-care can be urgent rather than optional. The body keeps records even when the mind tries to rationalize neglect. Lorde’s line gives permission to listen to those records and respond early, instead of waiting until damage becomes undeniable.
A Sustainable Ethic of Care
Finally, Lorde’s quote points toward sustainability: a preserved self can show up with more clarity, consistency, and compassion. The goal is not endless self-focus but durability—staying resourced enough to participate in work, love, community, and struggle over time. In practice, this ethic asks for regular, unglamorous acts: taking breaks without apology, seeking support, protecting time for recovery, and treating exhaustion as information rather than failure. Lorde’s sentence thus becomes both a mantra and a method—care is not indulgence when it keeps you here.