Despite the brutal amount of sleep deprivation, the first four days flew by. The thrill continued to build and joy was gaining momentum. But when the fifth morning finally came around, all of it seemed to come to an abrupt halt.

This day wasn't vibrant like the others. It felt as though a broad brush had swept across the canvas of the morning and its whole backdrop was awash with grey. And not a pretty sort of grey—a flat and undecided grey that sits suspended between a rich charcoal and a brilliant white.

It was in this colorless moment that I lost every ounce of willpower to stay engaged and fell as stiff as a statue. One minute, I was euphoric about the miracle of new life in my lap, and the next, I had plummeted in numbness.

Like unclaimed radio waves sending static across the ether, a monotonous prickling coursed through my body. It felt as if the sweet melody of motherhood was being absorbed into the lifeless walls around me and reverberating back a hollow chorus.

The light left my eyes and the strength drained from my bones. Even a movement as simple as curving my arms upward to create a cradle was an impossible force of will.

In a moment where my heart was meant to hold pleasure, it was holding a moratorium on delight. Hips that should have been swaying in a sweet rock-a-bye sat in rigid refusal. Eyes that were meant to gaze downward in endless wonder were piercing the walls around me as they threatened to become an ever-shrinking prison.

Motherhood is where selfishness and agency go to die. My body knew it. My mind knew it. And the postpartum depression was dead set on creeping in to hold a memorial for it.

I think this is where all postpartum starts. Part of you is up on a mountaintop, soaking in the radiance of immeasurable blessing and soaring with delight over new life. And the other is deep in a valley, groping your way through the dark and grieving the loss of a lifestyle you once cherished.

I can't think of another life experience where you're expected to reconcile such drastically opposing sentiments. There's a whole new landscape of emotions to navigate, all while your hormones are out of balance, your body is in pain, and every familiarity has been turned inside out.

But it was in this bleak moment when the gloomy grey palette was disrupted by a sudden stroke of color.

My husband popped into the room and motioned toward me. He squatted in front of the glider to meet me at eye-level. With one hand on my arm and one laid softly on our daughter, he implored me to lock eyes with him.

Determined to hold my misery close, I begrudgingly shifted my eyes to his but was unexpectedly softened at his tenderness. His eyes were gentle. His forehead creased in empathy. And in a steady tone, he assured me he was in this with me and he wasn't going to let me burrow myself in the “baby blues”, as he called them.

At this point, believe it or not, I hadn't even realized that's what this was. I was too numb to even process it, but my husband somehow had the intuition to identify it immediately.

He continued, "This is not who you are. I know this is hard, but we're in a season where our lives are not our own anymore. We have to come to terms with this and find a new level of selflessness. You can do this."

That's all I needed in that moment to snap me out of it.

What I didn't need was a bleeding heart piling on the sympathy. What I didn't need was someone falling all over themselves to affirm the hardship but withholding the challenge that would truly change me.

What I needed was someone to unapologetically lead me to a new level of sacrifice. I needed someone to remind me that on the other side of this self-denial was an incredible amount of purpose.

And I can't help but see this as a picture of where we SHOULD be as a society as we seek to make our lives meaningful. Where there should be more stories of challenging one another toward intentional sacrifice and selflessness, there is, instead, a culture saturated with a self-first mentality.

Regardless of how it started, the self-love movement has all but devolved into a mishmash of unqualified platforms, entitled mantras, and echo chambers masquerading as brave shouts from the digital rooftops, as it were.

It Didn’t Start Out This Way

I think we have to be fair and say that the self-love movement didn't exactly start out this way. I believe it was born out of a sincere place. Its original premise encouraged us to love and care for ourselves better so we could steward the rest of life's responsibilities and relationships well.

This is reasonable. And the beginning rumblings of these types of messages were fair and effective. As a result, a community organically formed as it saw young professionals overworking themselves, stay-at-home moms struggling to find alone time to recuperate, and troubled partners staying trapped in truly toxic relationships.

We started sending out messages to the ether like, “It’s okay to show yourself some grace”, “It's okay to take time away for yourself”, and “It's okay to move on from the relationships that don't value you”.

The motivation behind these sentiments is certainly that of compassion. However, what started out as grace-filled encouragement quickly balooned into displays of entitlement and self-affection.

The time for debating the merits of the self-love movement based on its intentions has passed. It's time to start judging based on its fruit.

We're on a Collision Course, Headed for Ourselves

Since gaining significant momentum, the self-love and self-care ideals have trained us to zero in and focus intently on our own well-being—so intently, in fact, that many have become tunnel visioned. At some point, there is a diminishing return on the self-first mentality where we begin to get in our own way and sabotage our own growth.

There's a term for this in the military called “target fixation”. Target fixation is when an individual becomes so focused on an object, they increase their risk of colliding with it by unintentionally steering in the direction of their gaze.

The self-love community insists our gaze should be inward, and we don't even realize we’re steering in the direction of our own self-destruction, locked on target to collide with ourselves.

We should be asking ourselves, “Why is that?” How can a generation simultaneously have one of the greatest self-esteem movements of all time and yet be so emotionally anemic?

They’ve been taught that the “self” should be the object of their greatest affections and service, but what this has created is a target they're on course to collide with.

This movement is failing right before our very eyes and yet, instead of holding the cause accountable, we've doubled down on it.

Comfort Medicine

Several years ago, I was physically taken out by what initially seemed to be an invisible enemy. One morning, after an early alarm and a quick shower, I sat down to my oatmeal and coffee at the dining room table and powered up my Kindle. The morning was progressing along like all the others—exactly according to routine. About ten minutes into my breakfast, however, I started experiencing sharp stomach pain, seemingly out of nowhere. The onset was sudden, and it progressed from uncomfortable to excruciating in a matter of minutes.

One moment, I'm fidgeting in my chair to mitigate the discomfort, and the next, I'm in a fetal position on the floor, contorting my body every which way to fight the stabbing pain.

Though incredibly concerning, I forewent the inkling to visit the E.R. and decided to tough it out. After about 30 minutes of writhing on the kitchen floor, the pain finally started to subside. But as the physical discomfort lifted, the mental unsettling began. For the remainder of the morning, I felt emotionally ungrounded. It was as if my head was floating, the center of my chest had unanchored itself from the rest of my body, and a 90-pound weight had been dropped in my gut.

This mental angst, along with the stomach pain, continued on and off for another week before I finally conceded and drove myself to the emergency room. They spent hours taking samples, drawing blood, scanning my abdomen, asking loads of questions, and running a slew of tests. And after all this, they walked back into the room and essentially told me, “We can’t find anything wrong with you”.

I didn’t know what to feel in that moment, so I guess I just felt everything all at once. I was angry I had just spent thousands of dollars for no answers; ashamed I’d be seen as dramatic over what was apparently “nothing”; and scared because this pain was so real, only for there to be no discernible diagnosis to help make sense of it.

What none of us knew then, and what I would discover later was, for the first time ever, I was dealing with severe levels of anxiety.

Since the doctor was unable to pinpoint this at the time, she started grasping at anything to not let me walk away feeling helpless. As a last resort, she offered to prescribe me “comfort medicine”.

What is “comfort medicine”, you ask?

Hell, if I know.

I can tell you what it’s not. It’s not an answer. It’s not a solution to a root problem. It’s not anywhere close to being a formidable contender to the ruthless enemy of anxiety.

You see, comfort medicine is what the self-love community has in spades. They don't have an intimate familiarity with how you're wired, what you're going through, or what you were made for. So, when burnout rears its head, or anxiety rushes in, or precious relationships get strained, all they have to offer are placebos.

Instead of teaching the mom with a newborn to find meaning in this season of her life, they teach her to focus on everything she's “allowed” to do outside of that purpose.

Instead of challenging someone to sit with the discomfort of personal failure and grow from it, they teach them to chant an empty “I am enough” mantra.

Instead of coaching the younger generation on the importance of commitment and resiliency in relationships, they get on a soapbox about “boundaries” and tell them to cut ties when the going gets tough.

All their answers are veiled retreats. They teach us to lean into what brings temporary, self-serving relief instead of what brings meaning and transformation to our lives.

The Preservation Pitfall

Pay close attention to every self-love message that comes across your screen. Embedded in every single one is an aspect of self-preservation or self-protection. Think about it. The only logical reason for making these foundational to the self-love doctrine is if there is no other answer to being worn out, bruised and bloodied, taken advantage of, exhausted, and in despair. The self-love doctrine is more of a fatal warning than it is a hopeful commission—a warning that you might permanently burn out, run out, dry out, and die out. There is no hope beyond what you can do for yourself. Hence, the SELF.

In the self-love world, the answer to you is you. You are your god.

It's no wonder its followers preach self-protection and self-preservation like it won't be around tomorrow. It might actually not be for them. Because they've made “self” their god, they're faced with the reality of their own finiteness.

This is why they fight so intensely against the ideals of sacrifice, self-denial, and servanthood. The call to live an infinitely sacrificial life of purpose quite literally threatens their well-being. They must preserve. This HAS to be a principal tenet of the self-love doctrine or it all falls apart. That much is glaringly obvious.

Exacted for a Purpose

I am fully aware there are people struggling to prioritize themselves. There are people burning themselves out on work, stuck in unhealthy relationships, and irresponsibly sacrificing their time and energy at the expense of their own health. But this is not a self-love problem. This is a purpose problem.

Getting this diagnosis right is critical to understanding that we are instruments exacted for a purpose. And I would challenge you to name a single tool, vessel, or instrument that has ever been made to serve itself.

What good is a sword unto itself? Is its purpose realized in the sheath?

What good is a pen unto itself? Is its purpose realized in a pocket?

What good is a cello unto itself? Is its purpose realized in its case?

Let's exit the analogy and look at this practically. Excessively setting boundaries with people, cutting off relationships that are hard, squandering opportunity because it doesn't check all your boxes, relabeling a lack of discipline as “rest”, and quitting what doesn't make you happy are some of the shallowest and lowest resistance solutions you could reach for.

These are the staple answers to loving yourself well from the self-love community and they're all very basic forms of self-protection and self-preservation. They have really outdone themselves by setting that bar as low as it can possibly go.

If they actually had your best interest at heart, they would see you through the lens of purpose and potential, not protection and preservation.

Let me say that again.

If the self-love disciples really cared about you, they would teach you to risk and sacrifice for the sake of your purpose, not suppress your growth and potential for the sake of protection.

If protection and preservation is the ultimate bar, then you will be the sword that stays sheathed, the pen that stays pocketed, and the cello that stays encased.

But if PURPOSE is what you're after, then friend, you're going to get nicked and dinged. You're going to get worn down and dry up. You're going to fall out of tune and break some strings. 

But that's what the Creator is for. The Creator knows the exact purpose His instruments were crafted for and He knows that in their usefulness—in the living out of their purpose—there will be wear and tear. But He can put the sword back into the fire—reshape it, refine it, and reshine it. He can quench the thirst of a dried up well with his infinite riches and resources. He can reset the strings and fine-tune you as many times as necessary to keep you playing the melody you were meant for.

The self-love disciples can yell their diagnoses at you from a distance all day long, but keep in mind that your Creator has held you. He formed you and shaped you with intention. And He is close—so close He doesn't have to shout. He stays near and gently reminds you of the purpose you were made for. And living this out will not be easy, nor will this purpose ever be in service to itself. 

Make no mistake, the world will look down on you for living a life of sacrifice, but know the Lord is honored by those who are willing to deny themselves and serve. It's what He came to earth to example, and He did so flawlessly.

The greatest show of self-denial in the history of mankind led to greatest redemption and freedom His creation will ever know. I don’t know about you, but I’m eternally grateful He understood His purpose above all else—"yet not what I will, but what you will".

And when we embrace our purpose as being His instruments and thoughtfully crafted vessels for His use, we get to be a sample of this redemption and freedom to those around us.

Let me save you the trouble of reaching for the next self-help book, or signing up for that 5-minute meditation program, or paying hundreds of dollars for a 3-day webinar on success. Here's your free and eternally rewarding 5 steps to a purposeful life: