Translation:
It's a good thing you're there that I don't need a guy to share my emotions.
(My friend's chat that triggered this write up. Haha)
I’ve noticed something about myself, and I won’t pretend I don’t see it clearly ( since my sister discuss this with me too).
My will to live gets stronger when I’m needed.
There’s something about being called, being relied on, being the one people turn to that wakes me up inside. It gives me direction. It gives me a reason to move, to act, to show up fully. In those moments, I feel alive.
And I know. I know this isn’t entirely healthy.
Because I’ve lived long enough to see the pattern. When my life leans too much on being useful, it becomes exhausting. People’s needs change. Situations shift. There are seasons when I’m needed everywhere, and there are seasons when everything goes quiet. And in that silence, if I’m not careful, I start questioning my value.
As if my worth left the room the moment I was no longer required.
That’s the dangerous part.
Still, I won’t lie. Once in a while, I let myself indulge. I read those messages again. The ones where people say they’re grateful I’m there. The ones that remind me I made a difference. And for a moment, I let it fill me.
Not as proof that I deserve to exist, but as a reminder that I’ve touched lives.
I’m learning there’s a difference.
For the longest time, my mind has been wired like this:
I am needed, therefore I matter.
Now I’m slowly teaching myself something new:
I exist, therefore I matter.
It doesn’t come naturally. Sometimes it even feels fake, like I’m trying to convince myself of something I haven’t fully believed yet. But I’m not in a rush. Growth like this isn’t forced. It’s practiced.
So I try, in small ways.
When someone thanks me, I don’t just store it as evidence of my usefulness. I sit with it. I let it land as something simpler and more human. I impacted someone. That’s all. Not a condition for my existence.
I also give myself moments where I do nothing for anyone else. No helping. No fixing. No carrying. Even if it’s just a few minutes. It feels uncomfortable sometimes, like I’m stepping outside of who I’ve always been. But maybe that’s the point.
Because I’m starting to ask a different question:
Who am I when nobody needs me?
Not what I do. Not what I provide. Who I am.
What I do know is this.
I’ve carried people for a long time. I’m good at it. Maybe even too good.
But the next version of me won’t just be someone who is always needed.
She will be someone who can still stand, still breathe, still live fully, even in the quiet.
Because being needed is powerful.
But being whole, even when no one is asking anything from me, is freedom.
