Embracing the Rebalance – When Caring for Others Costs Too Much

Welcome back, Friends,

I was working with someone this past week who struggles to prioritize themselves, and it had me remembering a key moment in my own journey with that.

Several years ago, I was a bridesmaid for a dear friend. I was happy to help however I could—planning her shower, her bachelorette, and just being there to support her through the wedding process.

As her big day unfolded, it came time for her and her new husband to share their thank-yous. When she got to me, she said: “Christina is the kind of person who would leave her own wedding to help someone.” Her guests smiled. It was meant as a beautiful compliment. And I know she meant it with love. But it hit me like a ton of bricks.

I couldn’t stop thinking: Why would I need to leave my own wedding? Wouldn’t it be okay to send someone else? Wouldn’t I deserve to stay?

And to be honest, even writing that now feels a bit uncomfortable. It’s laced with empathy for the part of me that, for so long, struggled to value herself the way she did others…and compassion for the part of me that still worries this might come across as selfish.

While I’m proud of my caring nature—and I love being a source of support for the people in my life—something about that moment felt off-balance. It felt like I had become the kind of person who was expected to abandon her own joy to care for everyone else.
And that got me reflecting. Where did that pattern come from?

I’ve always valued compassion. It’s one of my core values—along with connection, curiosity, growth, and balance. But those values aren’t just about how I show up for others. They’re also about how I show up for myself.

So, I used some of that curiosity to look deeper, and I started to see where some of these patterns began.
I grew up with a mother who has the most generous heart. I watched her give and give to the point her body started to attack itself. I saw how her care for others was rooted not just in love, but in a deep need to feel needed—something she subconsciously learned in childhood as a way to feel valued, and therefore safe.

She gave what she never received. And while that kind of love is beautiful, it also came at a cost—to her body, and to those she loves.

We often think that by giving our children what we didn’t receive, we’re teaching them they’re worthy. But when we give everything—especially when we’re running on empty—we can unintentionally teach them that self-abandonment is a requirement for love. We perpetuate giving for love, instead of from love. And in doing so, we lose touch with ourselves…with what we really want…with what nourishes us.

And that’s exactly what I had learned to do.

I gave. I said yes. I put others first.
Until my body started saying no.

I developed chronic inflammation in the form of rashes, shingles, and endometriosis.
Now, endometriosis has a genetic component—but our genes don’t exist in isolation. They live in relationship with our environment, our stressors, and the coping strategies we develop to survive.

As Gabor Maté explores, chronic illness is often less about weakness and more about the strength it took to keep going in the face of constant stress, emotional suppression, and self-silencing.

This is not about blaming ourselves or others. It’s about awareness.
It’s about honouring the connection between our stories and our symptoms—between our emotions, our nervous system, and our immune system—so we can stop repeating what’s no longer serving us.

Because the ways we learn to cope as a result of circumstances that we, as children, have no control over, do impact our bodies.
And because no—I don’t want to be the person who would leave her own wedding.
I want to be the kind of person who gets to stay.

And that’s meant learning a new way—one where care is rooted in balance. One where love includes me, too.

Here are some of the small but meaningful shifts I’ve made:

• Pausing before answering a request: “Can I get back to you tomorrow about this?” Then actually checking in with my body first.

• Asking myself: “Does this request respect my current energy? Does it leave me feeling peaceful—or depleted?”

• Practicing honest and vulnerable no’s: “I’d love to say yes, but I don’t have the capacity right now.” Or “This feels hard to say, but I want to be able to show up fully—and I can’t do that at the moment.”

• Checking in with my core values: “Does this decision align with my core values in a way that honours both my connection with others and my connection to myself?”

• Letting go of the belief that just because I can handle something, I should: Many of us had to learn how to ‘handle it’ early in life. We became the strong ones. The ones who kept the peace. The ones who made it work. But just because we can handle something…doesn’t mean we have to. And just because we once did, doesn’t mean we still need to—or that it’s healthiest for us now. Strength is beautiful—but sometimes, the most loving thing we can do is soften. To let ourselves be supported. To release the pressure of always being the one who keeps it together.

We get so used to being a certain way—capable, accommodating, dependable—that we forget to ask: Is this still serving me? Has it become imbalanced?

Sometimes our greatest strengths were born from necessity. But over time, they can become the very patterns that keep us from thriving.

So, if you’re noticing a pull toward balance…
If you’re tired of showing up for everyone but yourself…
If you’re craving a new way of being…

Start small.

One pause.
One honest check-in.
One breath.

You don’t have to abandon the parts of you that care deeply.
You just don’t have to do it at the expense of yourself.
You deserve to stay at your own party.

With heartfelt gratitude,
Christina