Who Am I Without Helping?

What happens when being helpful becomes the way you prove that you’re a good person?

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, and I finally had to admit something I’ve been dancing around for a long time.

I’m tired of helping people.

Not because I don’t care about people. Not because I don’t have anything to give. And definitely not because I don’t know how to help.

I’m actually really fucking good at it.

But I’ve realized that I have spent years making myself valuable through what I can do for other people.

Teaching. Coaching. Explaining. Showing up. Making people feel seen. Giving people what I thought they needed.

And somewhere along the way, I stopped asking myself what I needed.

That is the mother wound showing up in a way I didn’t recognize before.

I thought I was being of service. I thought I was building community. I thought I was helping Black women heal.

But I was also constantly adjusting myself around other people. Thinking about what they wanted from me.

What they would think. Whether they liked what I said. Whether I was being helpful enough.