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Everybody asks for your help. You’re worn out. But you can rest when you’re dead. Your body aches. And not from working out. You know self-care is important, but you just don’t have the time.

Does this sound like your life? Do these feelings hit home? Is this you?

He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy; But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity's sun rise.

--William Blake

Have you thought about learning to fly a plane?

Dreamed about selling your house and moving to Spain?

When my mother couldn't remember anything anymore, she still knew one thing: she loved my red rain boots.

When they come, it's often with surprise and profuse apologies. Both men and women, all ages and professions try to wipe them away as quickly as possible. The loss of control, the exposure of the heart is delicate.

I recently signed up for an improv class. It was really fun -- and useful; it helped me give a big presentation and love it. But then it wasn't fun anymore. It felt like a chore. For a moment, as I was contemplating withdrawing, I felt badly about it.

How many of you are tired of hearing about self-care?

I asked this during a recent talk to a group who may need it most: Physicians, social workers, nurses and volunteers in hospice care.

One woman in the back raised her hand.

Imperfection is a show-stopper, a dream-killer, a kill-joy. What if you could know that you’ll keep improving and have more fun getting there?

"Take care of yourself," a therapist told me earnestly.

This was many years ago, during a particularly rough spot in my marriage. I had a new baby and the pain from my emergency c-section was so deep that several months later, I still carried it inside me as my secret suffering. Yeah right, I thought.

More than half of my clients are doctors. And many of them are in danger of over-identifying with that title.

This is why, I don't coach doctors -- (or lawyers, or bankers, or Australians or Africans).

Do you ever just know something, though your rational mind cannot make sense of it? Do you talk yourself out of what you know because, you don't know how you know it? 

Every Christmas, I followed a playbook that I'd not experienced in my own childhood. I was determined to make Christmas magical for my kids.

I'd stay up past midnight wrapping presents, taking appropriate bites from Santa's cookies that I'd baked in the previous days, leaving strategic crumbs and then fall into bed.

It started out innocently enough.

You liked the company. She didn't complain. Being with her made you feel complete.

There were the promises of complete satisfaction; that you'd be a hero.

Solenn Giedel was 33 years old, a driven, tireless executive assistant, when one day she found herself barely able to wash her hands.

It was a full moon, which may explain what happened.

We were in Spain, which could also explain it.

Regardless of where it came from, there was no stopping it.

I was terrified.

I'd been clinging to the old, telling myself nothing had changed that much.

But the mirror told me differently.

My mother bowed out of mothering when I was 13.

"It's a two-way street," my mother told me as we warmed ourselves over the floor heater in my Northern California home. "I am not here to just listen to you."

Self-care is not always about yoga, says Attorney Rachel Schromen.

"Sometimes you need to hit something," she says. 

Self-care is not for the faint-of-heart.

I was speeding on the freeway. Late again. Muttering to myself about how slow people were driving.

Normally not a late person, I'd been late to this massage appointment consistently.