Self-Care as Resistance and Self-Preservation
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 Beyond Luxury
Audre Lorde’s line begins by dismantling a familiar accusation: that tending to oneself is frivolous or vain. By rejecting “self-indulgence,” she separates care from consumption, suggesting that rest, nourishment, and emotional boundaries are not treats but necessities. This reframing matters because the word “indulgence” implies excess, while Lorde insists on something closer to oxygen—basic, nonnegotiable, and life-sustaining. From that starting point, the quote invites a more precise question: who benefits when people believe they must earn their own survival? Lorde’s answer is implicit—systems and expectations that prefer people depleted will often shame them for recovering. Her sentence turns that shame on its head and makes survival itself the measure of legitimacy.
The Political Weight of Staying Alive
Once self-care is understood as preservation, it becomes difficult to keep it in the private realm. Lorde, writing as a Black lesbian feminist, spoke from realities where stress, discrimination, and violence were not abstract but daily pressures; in that context, staying well is not merely personal maintenance but a refusal to be worn down. The quote therefore carries a political charge: preservation is a strategy against forces that treat certain lives as expendable. This is why the sentence reads like a declaration rather than advice. It suggests that when a person protects their body, mind, or time, they are also contesting the conditions that demand their constant availability. In other words, self-care becomes a form of resistance precisely because it interrupts extraction.
From Martyrdom to Sustainable Commitment
The quote also challenges a cultural admiration for overextension—especially in caregiving, activism, and work—where burnout is mistaken for virtue. Lorde’s framing replaces martyrdom with sustainability: you cannot pour indefinitely without replenishment, and collapse helps no one. Seen this way, self-preservation is not the opposite of service; it’s what makes long-term commitment possible. Consider a familiar scenario: a community organizer skips sleep and meals for weeks to “be there for everyone,” only to become ill and disappear from the work entirely. Lorde’s sentence explains why the organizer’s rest would not have been selfish—it would have been the very condition of continuing. Preservation, then, protects both the self and the future one hopes to build.
Boundaries as a Practice of Care
Moving from principle to practice, Lorde’s idea naturally extends to boundaries. Self-preservation often looks less like pampering and more like saying no, leaving harmful spaces, limiting contact, or insisting on respect. These actions can feel “indulgent” only because many people are trained to equate goodness with compliance, especially those expected to carry others’ emotional labor. Yet boundaries are one of the clearest ways to preserve a life. They reduce chronic stress, prevent resentment, and make relationships more honest. In this light, Lorde’s quote validates the quiet, difficult choices—ending a draining obligation, turning off the phone, declining an unpaid task—that protect health and dignity even when they disappoint others.
Health, Rest, and the Body’s Reality
Lorde’s language of preservation is strikingly physical: a preserved thing is protected from decay. That emphasis honors the body as real and finite, not an endless resource. Sleep, medical care, therapy, movement, and nutrition are therefore not moral luxuries; they are infrastructure for living, especially when stress or illness makes the cost of neglect immediate. This perspective also clarifies why self-care can be urgent rather than aesthetic. A person managing chronic pain who prioritizes appointments over extra work hours is not “treating themselves”—they are preventing deterioration. Lorde’s statement gives ethical clarity to these choices: caring for the body is a defense of life, not an adornment of it.
A More Honest Definition of Selfishness
Finally, the quote invites a better distinction: selfishness harms others to elevate the self, while self-preservation protects the self to remain whole. Lorde does not argue for isolation; she argues against self-erasure. When care is framed as preservation, it becomes compatible with solidarity because it refuses the false choice between personal wellbeing and collective responsibility. In the end, Lorde’s sentence functions like a compass. It points toward a life where worth is not measured by depletion and where care is treated as a right. By insisting that survival is not indulgence, she offers permission—and a mandate—to live with the seriousness that life deserves.