Loving my partner is loving myself.

Two people sharing a life share a weather system. Their bad week is in your kitchen. Their good sleep is in your morning.

Which makes most acts of care less saintly than they look. Making a difficult phone call on their behalf, or letting a small annoyance go unremarked, is partly maintenance on the room you both live in.

That doesn't cheapen it. Self-interest and love overlapping is more or less what a household is. The suspicious version is the opposite: care performed at your own expense, banked, and quietly invoiced later when an argument needs ammunition.