Oh, the perils of a woman who scrimps on herself—how sharp an observation from old Erich Maria Remarque!
*”When you ask for little, you’re given little. First, you cut corners for yourself, then life cuts corners for you…”*
Remarque once quipped, *”A woman who pinches pennies on herself only inspires men to pinch pennies on her!”* At first, we skimp on ourselves, then the world skims right over us.
Modesty, good manners, and a kind heart—qualities endlessly praised in novels (and rewarded only within their pages). Real life, alas, plays a different tune. To the unscrupulous, meekness and sweetness are just tools for exploitation. Not every virtue is a blessing—sometimes, they’re downright disastrous. When a decent soul meets a rogue who’s happy to take advantage, those very virtues serve the cause of mischief. Do keep that in mind.
Every kind, well-mannered, modest soul ought to suss people out—lest they become a doormat. But to read others, one must first read oneself. Why do women so often stint on themselves, and what do they gain from it?
No one will thank you for self-denial. And mind you, it’s not just about money—women skimp on rest, pour themselves out for loved ones at their own expense, shrink their desires to fit others’. That’s scrimping on your very life.
People grow accustomed: when you settle for crumbs, crumbs are all you’ll get. First, you economise on yourself; soon, everyone economises on you. Women grow weary and disillusioned. When a woman asks fate why her life is all give and no take, silence is the only reply.
No one will cheer your exhaustion, your joylessness, your misery. No one will thank you—not others, not even yourself.
Bad habits breed bleak lives:
– Good habits don’t guarantee happiness, but bad habits guarantee misery. The penny-pinching habit starts with love—be it a partner or children. Your worldview shifts: once, *you* were the protagonist; now, you’re a supporting act. A mother’s love makes sacrifice second nature. A smitten woman will trade time, comfort, and ambition just to keep her beloved. Children grow used to your sacrifices; so does your partner. *You* taught them this life.
What happens if she reclaims herself, stops stinting, remembers her own worth? Those she sacrificed for will fume. Oh yes—no one will say, *”What a grand time we’ve had! Now it’s our turn to stint for you!”* They’ll just seethe: *How dare you take back what we took for granted?*
If fear of that anger keeps her quiet, years—decades—will slip by. Then one day, she’ll blink and wonder, *Where did my life go?* If you don’t want yours spent behind the curtain of others’ lives, stop economising on yourself. Don’t let others either—every soul deserves happiness.
Self-doubt has squandered millions of chances:
– What *is* stinting on yourself, really? It’s thinking you’re not clever enough for that dream job—others are sharper. That you’ll never dance or paint because you’re a beginner, and the world’s full of prodigies—so why bother? That other women are better because their noses are straighter or their hair bouncier.
Scrimping on yourself trains you to aim low and settle for less. It breeds fear of rejection—one *no* shouldn’t send you retreating.
It’s a habit that stifles dreams, that keeps joy just out of reach—because why reach for the impossible?
Don’t stint on time for yourself, on evenings with a riveting book, on your whims and daydreams. Time spent in delight isn’t wasted—it refills your spirit.
Sometimes, I think folk act as if they’ll live forever: waiting for chances to fall from the sky, measuring themselves against others, delaying, postponing—economising on their own lives.
Don’t shrink your soul. Never compare yourself—if I measured my scribbles against Dickens or Austen, I’d stint on ink and paper, deeming myself unworthy.
© Erich Maria RemarqueAnd so, the lesson remains—live well, spend freely on yourself, and let the world adjust to you, not the other way around.
