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the selfishness of self-discovery

is it an exercise in narcissism to work on yourself?

For several years now, I’ve been deep in the trenches of personal growth.

Embarking on this journey wasn’t deliberate, however.

Back in 2020, when the world ground to a halt, I was suddenly confronted with more time to reflect than I knew what to do with.

Leading up to the pandemic, I was an expert in suppressing my emotions, using the transient dopamine-inducing trifecta of dating, partying, and scrolling to distract myself from what was hiding beneath the surface.

Acutely terrified of peeling away the layers, I was well past the point of burning out: broke, unfit, and severely depressed.

Somehow able to recognise this in my heavily depleted state, I made perhaps my first-ever responsible decision in my whole adult life and chose to isolate with my family, rather than do so alone in my suffocating London flat and watch my health – mental and physical – deteriorate even further than it already had.

Without doubt, this was the right call. But what’s interesting is that, going into it, I assumed this would be the case for mistaken reasons.

Believing that being in the company of others would be better than being left to my own devices (correct) and that this would automatically mean avoiding the intense reckoning I’d feared would transpire if I opted for solitude instead (incorrect), it wasn’t long before my naivety towards the latter became rudely apparent.

Besides the forty hours I’d work in a week, the fifty-odd hours I’d sleep, and the, let’s say, twenty hours I’d spend with my mum, dad, brother, and sister chatting, sharing meals, and entertaining ourselves to stave off inevitable boredom, that’s almost sixty hours of me-time remaining.

While a lot of that was wasted on social media and elapsed by varying forms of exercise, a large majority of it involved living exclusively inside my own head.

Over the three months we were all mandated to stay at home, I amassed probably five hundred hours of introspection.

This set me on a path of self-discovery, which I’m still traversing currently.

Since reluctantly coming to terms with the sheer volume of things that demanded addressing in early lockdown, my mid-to-late-twenties have been defined by wading through each and every one of them, often at the expense of my relationships.

This is because despite how hard I fought to reject the task of ‘improving’ myself at the start, it kind of just took control, and as many who’ve experienced this will affirm, returning from that is no easy feat.

Nowadays, I steadfastly prioritise journaling, yoga, meditating, walks, and reading in my spare time.

That’s not to say I’m a complete hermit – I adore the people in my life and we hang out when my battery’s charged – simply that I’m my best self when I balance this with what I know benefits my growth.

Additionally, the moment you’re aware of what does and doesn’t protect your peace of mind, it becomes increasingly difficult to focus on much else.

Where once you might’ve put yourself in an uncomfortable situation to people-please, you now tell them ‘no.’

Where once you might’ve gone above-and-beyond for friends who rarely reciprocate, you stop making such an effort.

And where once you might’ve replied immediately to messages, you’re not so quick with it anymore (partly because you absolutely hate being on your phone, but mostly because you’d prefer to wait until you have the capacity to give said messages your undivided attention).

In retrospect, this all sounds pretty selfish, doesn’t it?

How is it that I can claim to be on this quest for self-discovery with the overarching aim of being a good person when this not only concerns willingly distancing myself from those around me, but ignoring the fact that there are those less fortunate who I really ought to be helping?

Trust me, I ask myself this constantly, wondering if I’m being potentially narcissistic and feeling guilty, anxious, or like a non-functioning member of society as a result.

Yet when I manage to silence that judgmental voice, I can clearly see that it isn’t worth listening to – that by virtue of this period devoted to studying myself, I’ve never had more to offer.

Armed with plenty of new resources to care for others how they deserve, supporting them is no longer driven by a desire for approval or validation, it stems from genuinely wanting to show up.

Where once I might’ve been lost in the inherent business of my thoughts, I now endeavour to truly hear what people are saying when they come to me for advice or to communicate what’s bothering them.

Where once I might’ve tried to relate or interject with my narrative, I now give people space to vent and strive to refrain from imparting my opinion unless it’s explicitly asked for.

And where once I might’ve expended a significant amount of energy worrying what people think of me, I now accept that this doesn’t matter at all, what does is engaging authentically.

None, and I repeat none of this would ever have been possible had I not dedicated myself so entirely to getting in touch with the core of my being.

The sincerely transformative process of self-discovery has taught me that, through serving myself inwardly, I can serve outwardly too.

There’s a balance to be struck, of course – pursuing personal growth is futile if you’re utterly absorbed in it and thus disregard others’ needs, perspectives, and feelings – but if I intend to contribute positively to my community, there’s no denying that acting from a place of self-observation and awareness is better than acting purely out of habit or external expectation.

Ultimately, self-discovery is about finding harmony between understanding yourself (namely your values, passions, and goals) and being considerate of others.

If and when this is achieved, it can most certainly coexist with a profound sense of empathy and a responsibility for people’s happiness.

Questioning whether or not this is selfish is natural, but having dealt with the initial dread that embarking on this journey filled me with, surrendering to its vicissitudes, and directly witnessing the beauty of a holistic approach to fostering inner and interpersonal fulfilment, I’m convinced that it’s not.

How could it be?

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