I used to think being a giver made me a good man.

I used to think being a giver made me a good man.

I took pride in it.

I was the one people could count on, the one who showed up, helped, fixed, supported, carried. It made me feel valuable. Needed. Worthy.

But honestly, underneath that generosity was fear.

A deep, quiet fear that if I stopped giving, I’d stop being loved. That if I didn’t make people’s lives better, they’d leave. So I over-gave. I offered more than I had to give. I said yes when I wanted to say no. I made other people’s comfort my responsibility.

And because of that, I attracted takers.

Not bad women, but women who were comfortable receiving more than they gave. And then judged and critiqued how much and how I gave.

Women who unconsciously confirmed the story I was already living: that my worth came from what I provided. That I had to earn love through effort.

And truthfully, at first, it felt great. There’s a certain high that comes from being needed. I felt important, in control, even admired.

But over time, it drained me. I started to feel invisible. Resentful. Empty. Because giving from fear doesn’t create connection, it creates imbalance.

It took me a long time to learn the difference between clean giving and anxious giving.

Clean giving is when your heart is open. You give because it feels true, not because you’re afraid of what will happen if you don’t.

Anxious giving is when you’re giving to buy safety, hoping that if you just love harder, prove more, or do better, the other person will finally make you feel secure. Hurray for validation.

It changed when I started asking myself, “Would I still feel good about this if I got nothing back?”

If the answer was yes, I gave.

If the answer was no I let the discomfort sit in my body until I understood what it was, and it was almost always fear of rejection or guilt for not doing enough. And I had to keep breathing without giving.

Learning to receive was even harder. When someone else gave, I’d deflect it. I didn’t know how to stand there and let someone love me without earning it.

But when I finally did, when I started receiving without apology, something in me softened. My relationships stopped being performances. They started to feel like partnerships.

It was also a time when I realized that takers can’t exist when I have boundaries around my giving.

They only thrive when I’m too scared to use the word no.

Now, I give differently. I still love deeply, I still show up, but from fullness, not fear. Often times now simply to other givers.

Let me tell you this:

Love that drains you isn’t love. It’s survival.

The moment you stop giving to prove your worth, you start discovering that the people who truly belong in your life don’t need you to earn their love.

And that starts with you first.