An hour before former Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern announced her resignation, I was sitting in my home office catching up on a long backlog of emails. Like most people, it was my first week back at work too and time was admittedly going fast and slow at the same time, the way it usually does when you settle back into routine after a couple of weeks off in the summer holiday.

I was having trouble focusing on the task at hand, my mind struggling to reconcile how I was sitting on a desk, coffee in hand, while looking at a computer screen instead of lazing around on the beach, sipping on a cold beverage.

I am notoriously a big fan of the New Year, relishing the opportunity to set goals and decide what I want for the year ahead. The last few weeks of being on a break had given me more time than I ever have to reflect and prepare for this metaphorical fresh start.

“I think this is going to be my selfish year,” I yelled across the room to my best friend Sisi, who was standing in my dining room working on a project. Just a week before that, we were in the same spot working on vision boards for the year, writing in our journals and asking ourselves the all-important question of ‘what do we want for ourselves in 2023’.

I started listing all the ways I was going to be selfish this year, which of course is just a fancy way of saying that this is the year I decided to finally put myself first.

As any recovering people-pleaser can attest to, this is easier said than done. When we are constantly pulled in different directions, competing priorities, and balancing the different expectations on us, putting yourself first isn’t selfish, but a necessity.

The summer break gave me an opportunity to re-evaluate my life, to be upfront about my needs and what I no longer want, terrified of spending another year doing something I can no longer show up for.

As it turns out, I’m not alone in this. This sound-bite has been repeated all over social media, transcribed in different languages, and to me it is one of the most profound statements I’ve ever heard from a politician:

“I’m leaving because with such a privileged role comes responsibility. The responsibility to know when you are the right person to lead and also when you are not,” Ardern said. “I know what this job takes. And I know that I no longer have enough in the tank to do it justice.”

In an era of quiet-quitting, pop culture discussions of Gen Z’s approach and attitude to work, and self-improvement podcasts telling us to ‘let go of what no longer serves us’, this statement validates things we’ve long been told but hardly see in practice: no job is worth the burn out, if it doesn’t make you happy let it go, protect your inner peace, you are more than your job title. A real-life example of ‘you cannot pour from an empty cup’.

Much has already been said about the PM’s resignation. There have been countless headlines, gross celebratory declarations by hospitality establishments, and social media reactions (my favourite one was a tweet asking who amongst us haven’t gone back to work after the break and said, f**k this) and it hasn’t even been a week.

The situation has been dissected and analysed, misogyny has been blamed for this decision, and the nuances of where to from here hangs heavy in the air.

Regardless of where you sit in the political spectrum, there is no denying Jacinda Ardern has had to lead us in extremely difficult situations, from the Christchurch terrorism attack to the Whakaari eruption, and a pandemic.

It is a job that requires one to be at their best, in order to be the leader we deserve. Of course that doesn’t make her perfect. In a democracy, we need to be able to critique and hold the government and leaders to account.

But the difference between what’s constructive and not is striking. To do it with nothing left in the tank is a disservice to all of us.

Ardern has always been lauded as a millennial leader. One of the critiques she faced during her rise to power was that she was too young, inexperienced, too idealistic and progressive.

Choosing a career of service is no doubt a noble choice and bravely choosing to exit a role in this capacity for these reasons makes me feel seen as a millennial. It feels like a sign that times are truly changing to see a leader choose to take care of themself first.

In these pandemic times, where industries have to adapt and pivot at the drop of a hat, I can only hope that this makes way for a reevaluation of who we are as a nation too especially in the context of our work, our glaring misogyny, and the parts we play in upholding patriarchal standards and colonial structures of governance. We demand a lot from our leaders, but it’s time we demand that of each other too.

While self-care has been commodified in recent years, reduced to a buzz word after being co-opted by the wellness industry to sell products and a lifestyle, the past week has me reflecting on the true meaning of the term.

Self-care can be face masks and warm baths, sure, but often it forces us to confront the uncomfortable truths in ourselves and in our lives.

If anything, Jacinda Ardern reminded us that self-care is community care, and self-care can be one of the most transformative actions we can take.

As anyone who has ever worked for an airline can tell you, you must put the oxygen mask on yourself first before even attempting to help someone else.

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