We are taught that it is better to give than receive, and this attitude is true at its core.
However, many have extended its boundary beyond the fringe, moving from a well-intended sentiment to personal detriment.
Holding space for others can provide a sense of fulfillment and a “helper high.”
It feels good to be needed and to be able to help another. Yet, if we consistently take on the emotional burdens of others, this can lead to a cumulative low, resulting in emotional burnout and physical exhaustion.
“I’ve been told that I’m easy to talk to,” a lady recently explained. “I seem to attract people who tell me their entire life story.”
“Is this something you wish to change?” I asked.
She gave a quiet laugh. “I’m not sure. I don’t mind… I mean it, I don’t.”
The woman gave me a smile that felt more like a gift, and I received it, realizing she had something special to offer. I could see why people were drawn to her.
“I’m glad people feel safe with me,” she continued. “It’s just sometimes it would be nice for someone to ask me how my day is going. Maybe it’s just the people I attract. Or maybe it’s me? It’s my life in a nutshell.”
“Knowing this has been going on for some time, I would venture to say it isn’t all them or all you — it’s both, and the balance can shift depending upon many things, like how you’re feeling and who the other person is,” I said.
She nodded, then shook her head. “Feeling? Most of the time when this happens, I put my feelings aside to devote my attention to listening and being present for the person in front of me. I could be having a horrible day, but it doesn’t matter… they’ll never know… I’m there for them,” she said.
“That can certainly happen occasionally, but when ‘sometimes’ becomes ‘every time,’ then you have conditioned yourself to hold space for others more than yourself. In essence, you are telling yourself that you don’t matter,” I said, “or that other people matter more than you.”
“I get that, I guess, but I can’t just walk away from someone who is clearly needing someone to listen,” she said. “Let’s face it: people don’t really care what I have to say, and most people are horrible listeners. I know it means a lot for people to be heard.”
“And it sounds like you’re one of the people not being heard. Maybe you’re unsure what you’d even say if given the opportunity. We can train ourselves so well to be present for others that we deflect and redirect conversations when they become about us so that we can, once again, help others,” I said.
“True. I resemble all that!” she said, giving me another one of her smiles.
“How do you typically feel after these lengthy, one-sided conversations?” I asked.
“Exhausted. Spent. Done. But also, thankful I was able to hopefully help in some small way,” she said.
Her tired eyes betrayed her smile, revealing a glint of something she had yet to mention.
“Do you ever feel angry after these conversations?” I asked.
“Angry? No, I don’t think so,” she said. “If I do, I discount it. It’s probably more of a combination of gratitude for being able to help and sadness for not having that same genuine level of support in my life. But it doesn’t matter; I have to help. If I didn’t, I couldn’t live in my own skin.”
“You don’t have to help; you choose to help. And helping can look different from what you’re currently allowing. Helping can have boundaries, including time limits and other considerations. Requests for your time are not requirements,” I said.
“I don’t think I could walk away from someone pouring out to me,” she said. “I would feel obligated to stay.”
“Perhaps shame is propelling you to stay longer than you should. Maybe over the years, irritation from having so much of you consumed by others in one-sided conversations has settled into an unhealthy acceptance. To deny what you have come to expect and accept would make you feel shame at this point. So, you continue, and they continue.”
She paused. “Yes, but I have no idea how to deal with that.”
“There’s no perfect answer when dealing with imperfect people, including ourselves. But I suggest starting by checking in with yourself and asking what your body needs before entering a social situation. For example, take a moment to assess if you’re exhausted, in pain, anxious, or upset. Our bodies often tell us what’s happening before our brains can catch up.”
She gave a tired laugh. “I’m all those things most of the time.”
“Well, that should tell you that you need to work on holding more space for yourself. People will take, and you will give. Knowing this, do the same for yourself. Freely give yourself time. You are already showing this respect to other people. Reserve some for yourself.”
“What does that look like when I’m pulled into a conversation?” she asked.
“Depends on the situation. You can still be kind while recognizing that this isn’t a ‘have to’ moment; interrupt the flow after an adequate amount of time by saying that you must step away. If it is a conversation that needs to be continued, tell them that you will get back to them or arrange another time to talk.”
“I would feel so bad doing that. Like I’m lying just to get away,” she said.
“Again, that’s a shame cycle you’ve created. When you’re perpetually dealing with competing needs, yours over others, and you lose out the majority of the time, it’s not lying to excuse yourself in an effort to address your needs, even if the need is simply to step away and breathe.”
She let out a sigh.
I continued. “You don’t have to over-explain or make up excuses. Practice the pause to evaluate your availability to others.”
“I hear you, but that is a tough ask,” she said.
“Committing to yourself will be a give-and-take process that initially may feel uncomfortable. But once you get into practicing the pause, you’ll find that your relationships will be healthier, especially the relationship with yourself.”
“Practice the pause,” she repeated. “I can and will do that.”
“I look forward to touching base with you again to see how it’s going,” I said.
She shot me one final smile, adding, “And I look forward to telling you all about my day when that day comes.”
This column was initially published by CherryRoad Media. ©Tiffany Kaye Chartier.