The Greatest Commandment

“‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ The second most important commandment is this: ‘Love your neighbor as you love yourself.’ There is no other commandment more important than these two.” (Mark 12:30-31, GNT)

I’ve heard this verse my entire life. Catholic school. Church. From staunch atheists. But I never stopped to think about the second half of “The Golden Rule.” “Love your neighbor as you love yourself.” It never occurred to me, until the ripe old age of 30, that I am commanded to love myself too. I had only ever thought about it in the sense of treating others well. In fact, it’s so imperative that I love myself, that Jesus said that other than loving Him and others, nothing is more important than this. It’s not love God and others. It’s love God, others, and myself.

Loving myself, I’m realizing, sounds a lot like “no.” In the past month, I existed in four different time zones while balancing hypothyroid and mental health meds. I went to sweltering India to see my grandma who isn’t doing well, at my mom’s request. I did a busy layover in Dubai on the way back because my brother and I had the foresight to know we’d need to recover from visiting family (four hour-drive between my mom’s place in India and my dad’s - in and out of five hundred houses a day) who harangs us (me) to get married, informs me that I’ve put on weight, and judges me for wearing weather-appropriate clothes. Where my mom criticizes me because I didn’t stand up at the right time when some stranger walked into the house when I had just finally gotten a chance to sit down after a long day in the godforsaken heat - for saying the wrong things, doing the wrong things, wearing the wrong things, and frankly, just being the wrong daughter. Where she commented (not exaggerating) on every single bite of food I took. South India is a place where I’m treated like a second class citizen for being a woman, and I am continually fighting the gender inequality fight in Malayalam (not my native language) with family, drivers, and jewelry store employees. After all this, I came home, unpacked, bought gifts, wrapped gifts, presented gifts, attended the holiday office party, went in to see my good friend who I hadn’t in years, had my cousin Christmas sleepover, ordered groceries, did laundry, did my taxes, paid bills, mopped the floors, vacuumed, traveled two hours roundtrip to visit my new niece, took out the trash and recycling, cleaned the microwave and toaster oven, bleached the bathroom, completed prescription refill requests, packed again, did my acting classes, my voice lessons, therapy sessions, group therapy sessions, ran my errands, shopped for a wedding guest outfit, did the dishes, went to the Christmas market in Columbus Circle with my neighbors, repacked, spent almost four hours roundtrip in traffic in the car trying to get to JFK, missed my flight, traveled another hour and fifteen minutes back the airport next day and got my flight - all of this while maintaining a fulltime job and fulltime, long-distance relationship. I finally landed across the country after a six-hour flight (which had been delayed three hours) and waited in the cold for 25 minutes for my parents because they were stuck in traffic and wouldn’t let me take an Uber. I went to bed at 3 in the morning my time, woke up, worked. After all this, I wanted to attend a Christmas get-together even though I’m only close with one person and didn’t really know the rest (friends of my parents), but I was spent. So I declined. My mom guilt-tripped my brother and me. We ended up attending and had a great time. We knew we would. We love spending time with people, that’s not the problem. The problem is taking on too much in too little time. My mom had cried, and my brother said we wouldn’t go to church the next day if we attended today - he’s a constantly-negotiating salesman with a soft spot for my mom. He had come in from Boston and had an event that same evening. My mom said “sure” because “church isn’t as important. Relationships are.” That “they’re always asking about you. You have no idea how much they like you...Your acts will be written in The Book one day.” This last sentence was said menancingly. She had already bought extra presents for us for the White Elephant game. She had only given us the illusion of choice. So we traveled a little over two hours roundtrip. The next day, it was time for the Christmas Eve service. I said “no.” She started crying and guilt-tripping us again - despite what she had said the day before. I love the families at my (now, mega) church that I attended as an adolescent. I was sad I would miss them. But I could not imagine myself getting ready, traveling another almost two hours roundtrip. I was bone-tired. I knew we would be entertaining family friends at our house all-day the next day for Christmas. That we’d be going to the movie theatre at some point to watch a movie as a family - an hour roundtrip. And that I’d be seeing one of my best friends later in the week - another 90 minutes roundtrip. I want to show up fully as myself, and present, or not show up at all. Because, even when I’m tired and attend events, I still stay true to bubbly, energetic me. But it takes more from me. I’m not pouring into myself. I’m pouring into others. So on the quiet rides home, I have nothing left for myself. I’m depleted. She asked how many more Christmases we’d get to do this as a family again. I reminded her that I’m 30, and honestly, there’s no reason for her to expect I do this now. “What will they think? They were all there for you. They’re always asking about you.” She also implied I was making some statement against God. She was constantly repeating herself, “I thought we would do this as a family.” I knew she also probably wanted to take a family Christmas photo at the church and post it on social media and send it to her WhatsApp groups. The manipulating, the lack of empathy, the lack of absolute respect for me and my desires as a human being, my boundaries, and needs all in the name of “appearances” (appearing as if we are a cohesive, happy family) - I wonder why it surprises me anymore. My brother went. I poured into myself - I poured myself a glass of wine, drew myself a bubble bath, and read a book of Christmas tales that I loved as a kid. It was a pretty damn good Christmas Eve. I lost nothing by not attending - except for exchanging a few pleasantries with people who, yes, I do truly miss. But not all of them were even at that service. And they certainly didn’t put their lives on hold - standing there waiting for me to show up. They weren’t judging me, wondering why I wasn’t there. Despite what my mom thinks, people aren’t sitting around wondering about me 24/7. If they were so concerned, they could have sent me a text. They didn’t. God doesn’t hate me for not showing up to church. God literally said in Mark 12:30-31 that I need to show up for me too.

It took all of the above for me to utter two letters: “n-o.” How could I not have spoken up for me the way I speak up for others? How could I not have empathized with myself when I’m so quick to empathize with others? Loving myself meant prioritizing myself. And it shouldn’t have taken me until I was ready to collapse from incredible exhaustion to do so.

I’m learning that loving yourself often looks like saying “no” to people you love, who are supposed to love you.