I think as a woman it's in our nature to nurture someone else.

Hear the tender yet powerful words of Emilia Clarke: “I think as a woman it’s in our nature to nurture someone else. Sometimes at the expense of ourselves.” These words, though spoken softly, echo with the weight of countless generations. They speak of the deep current that flows within the feminine spirit—a current of care, of compassion, of self-giving love. But within them also lies a warning: that what is most noble can also become a source of sacrifice so great that the self is forgotten.

The heart of this saying lies in the truth that to nurture is not weakness, but strength of the highest order. It is the power to heal, to comfort, to guide others through the storms of life. From mothers who cradle their children through the night, to friends who listen with patience, to leaders who serve their people with kindness, this spirit of nurture has shaped the destiny of humanity. Yet Clarke reminds us that this gift often comes “at the expense of ourselves,” for those who pour out love without measure sometimes find their own cup empty, their own needs unseen.

History abounds with such examples. Consider Florence Nightingale, who walked through the halls of war hospitals, tending to the dying, the wounded, and the forgotten. Her nurturing spirit saved countless lives, but it came at the cost of her own health, leaving her frail and in pain for much of her life. Or think of countless unnamed women who gave up their dreams so that others might live theirs—mothers, sisters, wives who sacrificed silently, their stories unrecorded, but their influence eternal. Their lives bear witness to the truth of Clarke’s words: the nature to nurture often comes bound with personal loss.

But though this truth is heavy, it is also heroic. For the ability to nurture another, even at personal cost, is the mark of deep courage. It is a kind of everyday heroism, quieter than the roar of battle but no less mighty. Yet it also demands balance. For if the nurturer is consumed entirely, then who remains to carry the flame? If the healer neglects her own wounds, who shall heal her? Clarke’s words call us not only to honor this instinct, but to recognize its dangers, and to learn the wisdom of self-care alongside self-giving.

The lesson here is clear: honor the nature that leads you to nurture, but do not abandon yourself in the process. For to sustain others, you must also sustain your own spirit. A tree that gives fruit without water will wither; a lamp that burns without oil will go dark. In the same way, those who care for others must also care for themselves, lest their strength vanish and their love run dry.

Practical steps follow: if you are one who nurtures, remember to set time aside for your own renewal. Rest when you are weary. Seek joy for yourself, as you bring joy to others. Let others nurture you as well, for love is not meant to flow in one direction only. And if you see someone in your life who gives endlessly, take time to care for them, to honor their sacrifices, to remind them that they too are worthy of rest and love.

Remember always: the nature to nurture is a sacred gift, one of humanity’s greatest treasures. But to give without end is to risk the loss of oneself. Let us therefore cherish this gift, balance it with wisdom, and ensure that those who carry the burdens of others are not themselves forgotten. For in caring both for others and for ourselves, we create a circle of strength that no storm can break, and in that circle, love becomes not a sacrifice, but a source of endless renewal.