It's time we stopped putting ourselves first.

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I was doing the final touches of my winged eyeliner, ignoring the red mark I left my temples with from constantly messing it up and rubbing it off. I was getting ready for a fancy dinner with a friend and the minute I nailed my wing... My phone buzzed.

It was her.

"So sorry, I have to cancel. Had such a long day at the office, I'm exhausted and feel a headache coming on."

I stared at the message. And honestly? I wasn't angry. I wasn't even surprised. I was... familiar. Because for the longest time, I was a flake's number one fan (not the chocolate). And I had sent many texts in a similar vein to my friend and others.

But let's just pause on my reaction for a second and talk about the person on the other end of that text. Even if I was numb to it (because I was a fellow flake) being the person who is always, always on the receiving end is its own special kind of hell.

Watch: Do you have 'Satellite friends'? Here's why that's a problem. Post continues below.

It's the person who makes the booking, who gets excited, who puts on those jeans that we all know takes a least five whole minutes to wiggle into, who organises the babysitter... only to be met with a last-minute "sooo tired" text.

It's a low-key, repetitive kind of heartbreak. It's not a big, dramatic betrayal; it's death by a thousand "can we re-schedule?" messages. It's the slow, sinking realisation that you are simply not as important as your friend's couch.

And we've all been justifying it.

We live in the golden age of "protecting our peace". It's the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card. We're all "honouring our feelings," "listening to our bodies," and "setting boundaries." And after decades of women being told to shut up and put up, this stuff is important.

But (and take a deep breath here), I think we've taken it too far.

Our collective, fierce protection of "our peace" has morphed into a socially acceptable form of hyper-individualism. And it's making us flaky, unreliable, and worst of all, lonely.

Now, before you get your pitch forks out, let's get one thing straight.

If you are a chronic people-pleaser, someone who hasn't said 'no' since 2011, who is carting three kids to four sports every Saturday morning while baking a cherry cobbler for your office bake sale and also hosting book club... this rant is not for you. You have my full permission to cancel. In fact, I demand it. Go. Lie down. This article is not for you.

This is for the rest of us. The ones who do have the time and energy but have just... decided our couch is more important than our community.

I used to cancel all the time. I'd use my depression as a shield or claim I was "exhausted" and "needed to rest."

And in that moment, the sweet relief of wiping my lipstick off, unhooking my bra, and sinking into the couch, it felt like the highest form of self-care. But in the long run? It just made me feel worse. More isolated. More depressed. Less like myself.

I've now started to do the opposite. When I feel that familiar pull to retreat, to send the "so sorry" text, I force myself to go. And my overall state is so much better because of it.

Here would be the part where I say that every time I force myself to go out, I never regret it. That simply isn't true. Of course I do. I've been at events where I'm dreaming about my bed, where I'm engaging in conversations that I'm simply not interested in. You know what I never regret though? Turning up for the people who mean the most to me. Because I know they'd do the exact same if roles were reversed.

My colleague Jess summed it up perfectly. "Hard agree!" she said when I floated this theory. "I used to do the same all the time, but then I realised that I was just using it as an excuse to let the bad feels take over."

It seems to be trending on social media, too. After years of TikTok therapists telling us to put ourselves first, the pendulum is swinging back. People are realising that honouring every fleeting feeling of "ugh, I don't feel like it" is a one-way ticket to a very small, very boring life.

@certainlyheisenberg

I could go on about this for real

♬ original sound - Hann

I was reminded of this when I saw a viral screenshot of an Instagram Q&A with actor Jemima Kirke. Someone asked, "Any advice to unconfident young women?"

Her reply? "I think you guys might be thinking about yourselves too much."

It's brutal, but it's true. When I'm in my "I can't go" mood, all I'm really doing is thinking exclusively about myself. My exhaustion. My mood. My comfort. It's a suffocating feedback loop of 'me, me, me'.

The antidote to that self-obsession isn't more "me time." It's connection. It's forcing yourself to look outward. It's showing up.

And this isn't just about Friday night drinks. This chronic "self-first" attitude is bleeding into big, important, capital-L Life events.

"The wedding is over a 3-hour drive away, so we probably won't be able to make it." "I can't come to the funeral, I have a work meeting." "I need to cancel our date, I had a big night last night and I'm still a bit hungover."

These are the moments that are the friendship. That are the relationship. And we're trading them for an extra hour of sleep or to avoid an inconvenient drive.

The sentiment that has made it's away around the internet and stopped me in my tracks when I first read it: "Everyone wants a village but no one wants to be a villager."

We mourn the loss of community, yet we forget that a village requires participation. It requires you to be the villager who shows up when you'd rather stay home. It requires you to go to the thing, even when you're tired.

And I know what you're thinking: "But sometimes I really am burnt out. How do I tell the difference between a 'funk' and genuine, battery-empty burnout?"

It's a blurry line, but I've developed a little system. I call it the "tired eyes VS rolling eyes" test.

A 'tired eyes' is a full-body, non-negotiable rejection. It's when you're sick with the flu. It's when you're grieving a loss. It's when you're so deep in a depressive episode that showering feels like climbing a mountain. It's when you're financially stressed and the dinner is expensive.

You are tired, and you must honour the 'Tired eyes'. A rolling eyes... is different.

It's "ugh, I'm already on the couch." It's "I have to find parking." It's "I'm a bit lethargic." It's "I'd rather just watch Gossip Girl reruns." That is the self-obsession Jemima Kirke was talking about.

And it's the feeling you have to fight.

By putting ourselves first, always, we're simultaneously putting those who love us the most, last.

I'm not saying you have to go to everything. I am still, at my core, a me-time girly.

But I'm learning to tell the difference between a genuine sense of tiredness vs. me telling myself that I am tired.

And most of the time, the most radical act of self-care right now might be to stop thinking about yourself for a second, put on those tight jeans, and just... go.

If you want more from Emily Vernem, you can follow her on Instagram @emilyvernem.