Individuals who are fluent in the language of sacrificing for others - for love, for duty - often feel almost guilty for choosing their own happiness. They carry a deep paradox of the heart. Their "happiness", or what they believe it to be, will always be laced with notes of sacrifice - because giving unreservedly is what makes them feel alive. It is quietly threaded with pangs of yearning and aching - not because they are unaware of how they give, but because the gentle pain woven into it makes it feel more real - because that is all they have ever known love to be.
The giving is self-aware, textured even - like a chant or incantation to prove to themselves that they are somehow strong for doing so. In truth, it is a subtle prayer - a wish that someone might save them from themselves, to remind them that it is okay to pour into their own cup, to not feel guilty for choosing the true happiness their souls silently weep for.
But is it truly a "selfless" sacrifice if they derive pleasure from denying themselves what their soul desires? Or is it merely a coping mechanism for someone afraid of the truth - afraid of choosing themselves for once? For sacrifice has become a temporary stop they've lingered at for too long, through too many rainy nights - until self-deprivation became a place of comfort - a quiet cowardice, masked well.
So, no, perhaps it is not always selfless. Perhaps it is survival, dressed so elegantly in virtue that it has forgotten where it came from. Maybe all of it is just the soul's way of soothing its longing to come home - whole.
I would add this often masks moral masochism. Where one is driven to act in what might look moral and virtuous and the output perhaps does achieve that end especially if directed towards others.
But in doing so they impose suffering upon themselves, all for the sake of self sacrifice. And perhaps twisted in this is the hidden pleasure they derive from doing so.
That’s why to best love others you need to first love yourself.