*What I Give To Myself | Maya Tevet Dayan | 6 Minutes on Friday | August 21, 2026*
Once a year, when fall begins, I remember this story: my mother flew to London for a week to write. She was a documentary filmmaker, and much of the work she did behind the scenes on her films happened through writing. Through writing, she figured out what the film was about, figured out her characters, figured out her own place within each of the films. And in the process, she also wrote about herself, because there is no way to figure out who we are - even in relation to a film - without writing about ourselves.
.
Anyway, she flew to London for a week to write. It was just before Christmas. London was cold. My mother packed a coat and a few scarves and flew straight to a hotel she especially loved staying at. London had always inspired her. And so she went there, even though her home was quiet and she could have written there too, even though her children were already grown - I myself was thirty-five then and pregnant with my second child. My mother needed a change of scenery and to disconnect, so she flew.
.
Except that my sister and I decided this would be an excellent opportunity to join her. After all, she had already paid for a hotel room, and for only the cost of the flights we’d get to spend a whole week together. Besides, I was going to give birth soon, and I knew it would be a while before I could fly again.
.
And I should add one more important detail. By then, my mother had already been diagnosed for several years with metastatic stage 4 cancer. We didn't say it out loud, but we knew we had no idea when another opportunity like this might come our way. If ever.
.
We bought the tickets and didn't say a word to her, and two days after she arrived in London, we showed up with our carry-ons at the bar of her hotel and stood right in front of her just as the waiter was pouring another drink into her glass.
.
What is this?? My mother stared at us in surprise. What are you doing here? She burst out laughing. Then she hugged us. Then she said, but my writing week... this is my week. And then she repeated, but I'm so happy you came. And then added, but I wanted to be alone. Then she gathered her thoughts and said, okay, you'll go out during the day and I'll work, and we'll spend our evenings together.
.
What actually happened was that from morning till night we wandered around together, and at night we couldn't fall asleep because we would lie there in the dark in our beds - my mother and sister in the double bed, me on the pull-out sofa by the window - bursting of laughter. It was so much fun. My mother didn't write a word and didn't spend a single second alone with herself. And we all took pictures and ate sushi and froze in the rainy streets. And it was the last trip abroad we ever took together. Thank God we did it.
.
But once a year I remember it, and every time I feel a certain unease too. Because alongside everything that was good about it, we also took away my mother's time with herself. And when I remember that, all the feelings mingle inside me at once - the sadness and the longing and all the laughter we shared and the guilt.
.
In retrospect, it was a lesson my mother taught us without words - a lesson in how to give to yourself. In this case, how to give yourself a week of quiet and writing when what you're supposed to be doing is staying home and fighting for your life. Maybe it was a lesson in how to fight for your life, because being quietly with yourself, hearing yourself, and writing - these are deeply healing things.
.
And once a year, when I remember this story, I also remember how hard it is to give ourselves things. I'm sure it's hard for men to give to themselves too, but when it comes to women, there are countless studies showing how much we are rewarded for giving to others. In other words, you're considered a better woman, mother, and wife the more you give - and so we're used to giving ourselves away right after giving birth, giving our bodies as required, giving our time to our children, our families, our relationships, giving the best of our talents, our hours, our wakefulness and our exhaustion. We are excellent at giving ourselves completely to others.
.
And so this week I asked you on Facebook to tell me about one meaningful thing you've given yourselves recently, and I received 430 responses! Among them, you told me about studying Zen Buddhism in midlife, starting strength training at 54, taking a dance class instead of going to work, walking the Camino de Santiago in Spain as someone who isn't used to walking at all, a vacation with a son after two years of reserve duty when a trip like that was no longer even on the horizon, moving to the Jezreel Valley after a lifetime in central Israel, accordion lessons just because I feel like it, a skipper course that had been an old dream, embroidery, piano, traveling alone to Greece, and on and on.
.
What wonderful responses. 430 completely different ways of giving to ourselves, but all of them had two things in common: everyone who told me about something meaningful they had given themselves told me about experiences. Not objects. And all of them told me about experiences they had given themselves deliberately, with effort, with determination, and always against the usual order of things. In other words, all 430 responses described an act of rebellion. One that pushes against routine, against reality, against what you're expected to do or what you had planned.
.
That post had me scrolling through the comments with a huge smile. It is so joyful and moving to see such an outpouring of giving to oneself and of rebellious experiences. There is so much daring there, so much choosing life. I'll leave you the link so you can read them and smile too.
.
And this time I want to end with two things. First, to say with pride that among the hundreds of responses were women who said that the rebellious experience they had given themselves was taking part in the Season of Inspiration that has just ended, and others who had just signed up for the next season. I always, always say that writing - especially for women - is an act of rebellion. It always goes against what we're expected to be doing. And that's true even when writing is your career. That doesn't change! So if you feel like committing this rebellious and deeply meaningful act, you're invited to join us at the end of the month for the fall Season of Inspiration - a ten-week writing practice. It will never fit neatly into external reality. It won't fit into any plan you make or have made. But it puts your inner reality in order.
.
And second, I have an agreement with myself that once a year, when I remember how my mother got on a plane for a week, I ask myself: what am I giving myself now? What time, or quiet, or space of my own, or time for learning and writing? So this week I'm passing the question on to you too. In memory of my mother, and of that week in London that we pretty thoroughly disrupted and wrecked for her, what meaningful thing are you planning to give yourself now?
.
So with that question, I wish us all a Shabbat Shalom,
*Maya Tevet Dayan*