It would never cross our minds to treat others the way we treat ourselves.

We care about people. We are attentive and kind. We choose our words carefully. We encourage one another with Scripture and prayer. We notice when someone seems quieter than usual or looks a little off, and we ask how they’re doing. We tell them to rest, to slow down, to be gentle with themselves. We offer practical help. We step in so they don’t have to carry everything alone.

And then we come home.

We feel annoyed with ourselves for being more tired than we think we should be. We notice aches and pains and dismiss them, hoping they’ll disappear if we ignore them long enough. We long for a break from ministry but worry about the consequences for others if we step back. We feel stressed and irritable under the weight of responsibility—and then add to that weight by telling ourselves off for not being more patient, more gracious, more spiritual.

We would never speak to another person the way we talk to ourselves in these moments.

Instead of compassion, we offer ourselves criticism. Instead of curiosity, judgement. Instead of care, pressure. We demand resilience where we would normally be understanding. We expect endurance where we would recommend rest. We push ourselves harder at the very moment we would urge someone else to stop.

For many of us, this feels almost virtuous. After all, isn’t ministry about sacrifice? Isn’t faith about laying ourselves down? Shouldn’t we be able to push through tiredness, discomfort, and strain for the sake of others?

But there is a quiet difference between self-giving and self-neglect.

Jesus never asked people to ignore their humanity nor did he disregard his own. He noticed hunger, fatigue, grief, and fear. He asked his disciples for support when the burden he carried seemed unbearable (Matthew 26:38). He invited people to rest (Mark 6:31). He withdrew to quiet places himself (Luke 5:16).

When we consistently deny ourselves the kindness we extend outward, something begins to fray. Our joy dulls. Our patience thins. The dirty dishes left in the sink by our spouse suddenly become intolerable, triggering a heated argument. Our bodies keep score even when our theology tells us to keep going. And the people we are trying to serve often feel the cost of that, whether we intend them to or not.

What might change if we treated ourselves as someone we care about?

What if we listened to our own tiredness with the same attentiveness we give to others? What if aches and limits were not inconveniences to overcome, but signals to honour? What if taking a break were not a failure of faithfulness or a questionable quest for self-indulgence, but an act of trust?

Extending grace inward doesn’t imply diminishing our commitment. The compassion we offer ourselves is not a distraction from ministry. Instead, it can be the difference between merely surviving and truly thriving.

Where are you on the spectrum between self-neglect and self-care? Why not take a moment to pause, be curious and notice how you treat yourself? It is never too late to break through old patterns and open yourself to receiving the same kindness you so readily offer to others.

We are not only servants in God’s kingdom. We are also sheep who need a shepherd.

Reflection

  • Where do you notice a gap between the kindness you offer others and the kindness you offer yourself?
  • What would it look like this week to treat yourself with the same care you would give a friend in your position?

Prayer

Dear heavenly Father,
You understand me inside out. You see what motivates and what limits me.
You notice my tiredness even when I’m good at hiding it.
You know my limits, even when I don’t allow myself to have any.
Help me look at myself through your eyes.

Teach me to receive the grace I am so willing to give to others.
May I learn to rest without guilt, to listen to my body without judgement,
and to trust that serving you does not depend entirely on my striving.

Help me notice when I’m in danger of neglecting myself. Teach me what it means to care for myself in a way that honours you and increases my joy and sense of fulfilment in ministry.

Amen.