Caring for other people is something most of us would consider a good quality. We value the person who notices, who checks in, who makes the phone call and who turns up when somebody is struggling. Sometimes we become that person without ever deciding to be. Perhaps it begins in our family, where helping is …
Caring for other people is something most of us would consider a good quality. We value the person who notices, who checks in, who makes the phone call and who turns up when somebody is struggling.
Sometimes we become that person without ever deciding to be.
Perhaps it begins in our family, where helping is simply what people do. Perhaps circumstances require us to take responsibility early. Or perhaps we discover that being useful feels good. People appreciate us, trust us and know they can rely on us.
There is nothing wrong with any of that. The difficulty comes when we no longer know where caring ends and obligation begins.
When you don’t want to answer the phone
Most of us probably have someone whose name can appear on our phone at exactly the wrong moment. We know they need to talk. We know the conversation won’t be quick. We care about them, but right now we simply don’t want to answer.
That can be difficult to admit because we have some fairly demanding ideas about what a caring person should be. We expect ourselves to be patient, available, generous and understanding, even when we’re tired or simply don’t have the capacity for another conversation.
But being tired of listening doesn’t necessarily mean we’ve stopped caring.
We can love someone and not be available every time they need us. We can care about what somebody is going through without being able to carry it for them.
That distinction isn’t always easy to make, particularly when being the person who helps has become part of who we are.
When being needed becomes part of who we are
Oksana Samkova grew up in Ukraine, where caring for others was part of everyday life. She remembers carrying bowls of her grandmother’s soup to elderly neighbours. That instinct to care followed her into nursing and into a life where she was caring professionally, raising children and being the person friends and family turned to.
There is something lovely about growing up with that example of community and care. But our conversation also opened another question.
If being needed makes us feel valuable, what happens when we say no?
Perhaps that’s part of why boundaries can be so uncomfortable. We aren’t always simply declining a request. We may also be challenging an idea we’ve carried about what makes us a good friend, daughter, parent, colleague or human being.
For Oksana, there eventually came a point when her body said no for her. She collapsed at work and suddenly the nurse was the patient.
Most of us may never reach that point, but we can probably recognise some of the smaller signs that we’ve been giving more than we have available.
When did we stop including ourselves?
During our conversation, Oksana asked, “When have you decided that you don’t matter?”
I’m not sure most of us ever make that decision.
It probably happens in much smaller ways. We make sure everybody else is okay before checking how we’re doing. We fit one more thing into the day. We listen when we’re exhausted. We tell ourselves we’ll take some time for ourselves later.
And later doesn’t always come.
I don’t think the answer is to care less. I would hate for us to become so concerned with protecting our own time and energy that we stop inconveniencing ourselves for one another. Human beings need people who turn up. Sometimes love asks more of us than is convenient. But surely there is room within compassion for the person doing the caring too.
Who checks on the person who checks on everyone else?
That brings us to this week’s Brew the Change.
Think about someone in your life who is usually the one helping everyone else. The person who checks in, organises, listens or quietly carries more than most people realise.
Reach out to them when you don’t need anything and ask:
“How are you really doing?”
Then give them the space to answer.
We don’t always know when someone around us is running on empty. The people who appear most capable may also be the people who are least likely to tell us they’re struggling.
So perhaps this week we can check in on someone who is usually busy checking in on everyone else.
If you’d like to continue the conversation with Oksana and me, you’re warmly invited to join us at the table:
Let Love Be the Loudest Voice.
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