proximity is a privilege

on worth, devotion, and the end of self-abandonment

There are few things as seductive to me as self-devotion. I don’t mean seductive in the overtly sexual way the word is typically understood. I mean the magnetic pull of something sublime.

Self-devotion is, at its core, an act of resistance. And I have always been drawn—with a primal force—to resistance and subversion. I have a problem with authority. I resist being told what to do. I scoff at hierarchy and regard rules as suggestive at best. I avoid obligation and bristle at the mere suggestion that I walk the path most taken.

For women especially, self-devotion is one of the most radical forms of resistance available to us.

From early childhood, girls are trained to put themselves last. To be a good friend, wife, sister, colleague, mother, or daughter means placing the wants and needs of others ahead of our own. The systems and institutions that quietly support and reward this self-abandonment—religion, marriage, the nuclear family, romantic ideology, motherhood, capitalism, beauty culture, the modern workplace—offer rewards for compliance and punishments for defiance.

The rewards for self-sacrifice are subtle but powerful: approval, belonging, romantic desirability, professional opportunities, social protection, moral superiority. She is a “good woman.” A “good mother.” She is easy, flexible, agreeable.

The reward is social safety. And as social creatures, safety is an intoxicating currency.

When women refuse to comply, the punishment is swift and familiar. She is labeled selfish, cold, difficult, “too much.” She risks the loss of community, opportunity, acceptance. She is shamed, guilted, gaslit. She is framed as damaged, broken, undesirable—the single cat lady caricature.

The punishment is the withdrawal of love, belonging, and meaning.

At the heart of this conditioning lies a quiet but relentless practice: self-betrayal. A woman must police herself over and over again in order to remain compliant.

I learned this intimately when, at forty-five, I realized I did not recognize myself.

I had slowly surrendered myself to the systems that benefited from my compliance. The realization was devastating. Even now it brings tears; two years ago, it nearly collapsed me under shame.

What had happened to me?

In my youth, I was audacious, self-reverent, uncontrollable. I took pride—bordering on arrogance—in being a woman who bucked the system. But little by little, through small concessions and major life events, I surrendered myself to expectation.

I served everyone before I served myself, which usually meant there was nothing left for me. I kept my mouth shut to keep the peace. I pleased. I smiled. I pretended. I deferred. I managed. I contorted myself into every role assigned to me: loyal friend, supportive sister, forgiving daughter, accommodating wife, gentle stepmother, dedicated employee turned inspirational entrepreneur, desirable blonde.

I dressed appropriately. Wore natural makeup. Maintained a body that never suggested I had “let myself go.” I was smart, but not too smart. Feminine, but not excessive. Grateful. Undemanding.

I did everything the world told me a good woman does.

And I hated myself.