How do I balance taking care of myself with caring for the people depending on me?

This is the oldest trap: believing that love means disappearing. Rabia al-Adawiyya understood that pure devotion—to God, to community, to anyone—requires you to be intact. You can't pour from an empty vessel, and more importantly, you shouldn't have to. The people depending on you need you functional, not martyred. Self-care isn't selfish; it's the infrastructure that makes genuine service possible. When you sleep, when you rest, when you tend to your own grief or joy, you're actually protecting your capacity to show up. Think of it this way: a caregiver who never rests becomes resentful. A community member who ignores their own needs becomes bitter. Neither serves love. The balance isn't fifty-fifty—it shifts. Sometimes your people need more; sometimes you do. Real community understands this rhythm. What matters is honesty about your limits and commitment to not vanishing entirely. You don't owe anyone your burnout. You owe your community a version of you that's still breathing, still believing, still capable of connection.