You often hear me championing the importance of self-care and being kind to yourself—how vital it is for our physical, mental, and emotional wellbeing. While many of us see ourselves as kind, empathetic, and nurturing, we often struggle to turn those qualities inward. We take pride in caring for others, finding connection and meaning in being responsive to their needs.

But when I speak to women about the importance of prioritising themselves, I often hear something like, "I don't want to become selfish. I value being kind and available to others. I wouldn’t like myself if I started putting my own needs first."

This is where our thinking often gets stuck. We fall into a binary: we’re either selfish or caring. But what if it’s not that simple? What if there's a way to honour both—the needs of others and our own—without losing ourselves in the process?

Jungian analyst Lisa Marchiano offers a powerful metaphor in her podcast: the quiver and the arrows (please see link below). She suggests that we need more than the soft, kind arrows of care and empathy—we also need arrows of discernment, shrewdness, even ruthlessness. Not to become unkind, but so we can respond appropriately to the situations we find ourselves in. When the moment calls for it, we need to be able to reach into our quiver and pull out the arrow that serves us best.

Because if we don’t, we risk losing connection to ourselves. Over time, this can lead to feelings of numbness, anxiety, or even depression. We may begin to feel invisible or stuck. We may miss opportunities for growth, joy, or authentic connection.

Here’s an example:

Years ago, when I was running pregnancy yoga classes, one of the mums shared that she didn’t feel heard or supported by her midwife. But she didn’t want to hurt the midwife’s feelings—after all, she was a nice person. So she stayed quiet. The group gently encouraged her to put her own needs first and find someone she felt truly aligned with. A week later, she came back to class glowing—she had found a new midwife and felt relieved and empowered. From the outside, it may have seemed like an obvious choice. But for her, so used to protecting others’ feelings, it was a brave and transformative step.

We don’t need to abandon kindness to grow. But we do need to expand our understanding of what care really looks like—including care for ourselves.

Can we learn to be “effectively selfish”? Not in a way that shuts others out, but in a way that keeps us connected to our truth, our energy, and our aliveness.

Perhaps being "effectively selfish" isn’t about rejecting kindness—but about claiming a fuller, more honest expression of it, one that includes our own needs and dreams.

Questions for you:

In which situation might you benefit from a little more ruthless action taking?
How do you respond when you witness others—especially other women—display such traits?
Can you start seeing those moments not as selfish, but as deeply self-honouring?