I knew something had to change the day I sat in my car, staring blankly at my phone, scrolling through another list of messages, each one asking for something.

A ride here. A loan there. Help with this. Advice for that. And the list goes on and on.

All from people I love… but whose needs had become a full-time job I never applied for.

And in that moment, with tears silently falling, I realized:
I didn’t even know what I needed.

Because, for as long as I can remember, I’ve been the one who shows up.

The eldest daughter. The second mom.The emotional support system. The “strong one.”

Since childhood, I was the dependable one. The one who figured it out.
The one who kept it together — even when everything inside me was falling apart.

I took care of siblings like they were my own. I became my mother’s safe place when she didn’t have one. And somehow, the weight of the whole family landed on my shoulders — silently, but heavily.

And even now, as an adult… the expectations haven’t stopped. They’ve just evolved.

And I kept giving. And giving. And giving.

Until one day, I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the woman looking back.

Not because anything dramatic had happened…But because I had completely abandoned myself in the name of being who everyone else needed me to be.

That’s what overgiving does.

It rewires your instincts. You stop checking in with yourself. You stop being on your list.
You stop feeling like a person and more like a resource.

They don’t tell you that being the “good woman” — the reliable one, the helper, the strong one — can slowly strip you of your softness if you’re not careful.

You become the friend who always picks up. The daughter who never says no. The mother who carries guilt for even thinking of rest. The employee who says, “It’s no problem,” even when it is.

You become known for your strength. But no one notices your depletion.
Not even you.

At first, I thought overgiving made me noble.

I wore it like a badge — a quiet kind of martyrdom that whispered:

“Look how dependable I am.”
“Look how selfless.”
“Look how much I can carry.”

But I didn’t realize how much it was costing me.

It cost me my clarity.
It cost me sleep.
It cost me the gentle rituals that used to make me feel like me.

And the worst part?
It cost me my voice.

Because when you spend so long translating everyone else’s needs into action… You forget how to name your own.

One night, after the dishes were done and everyone was tucked in, I sat at the edge of my bed and whispered:

“Is anyone taking care of you?” And the honest answer… was no.

Not because people were unkind. But because I had trained them — unintentionally — to believe I didn’t need care.

I always showed up. So they stopped asking if I needed someone to show up for me.

That’s when I realized something radical:

Overgiving is not love. It’s fear in disguise.

Fear of being seen as selfish. Fear of being abandoned. Fear that if I stop giving, I’ll stop being worthy.

As a coach, I see this pattern so often in the women I work with. And I’ve come to recognize that not all givers give the same way.

There are different Giver Archetypes I teach inside my coaching, and each one has a hidden wound underneath:

🌀 The Victim – gives from a place of resentment, believing no one ever shows up for her in return.

🌀 The Martyr – gives to prove loyalty and earn love, believing sacrifice is the price for belonging.

🌀 The Savior – gives to fix others, tying her identity to how needed or helpful she is.

🌀 The Bleeding Empath – feels everyone else’s emotions deeply and prioritizes their peace over her own.

Each archetype comes from a story you didn’t write but learned to survive. But here’s the truth:
You can learn a new story.

I started making small, quiet rebellions. I let the phone ring.
I said, “I actually can’t today.”
I bought myself flowers.
I sat in the sun, without needing a reason.

Yes, guilt showed up at first. But so did peace.

Because every time you say yes to someone else at the expense of yourself… You are teaching your body that your needs are optional. You are teaching your spirit that your rest is negotiable.
And they’re not.

You matter. Your needs are real. Your softness is sacred.

You were never meant to hold up the world while yours quietly crumbles.

So if you’re the one who always shows up…Who always says yes…Who is silently exhausted but still pushing through…

This is for you.

You don’t have to earn your place by overfunctioning.
You don’t have to perform love through exhaustion.
You don’t have to explain why you need space. 

You are allowed to choose you.

Even if it disappoints someone.
Even if they don’t understand.
Even if it’s unfamiliar.

Because the first time you say yes to yourself… You begin to come home to the version of you that overgiving tried to erase.

And that woman?

She’s worth resting for.
She’s worth protecting.
She’s worth everything.

With grace,
Lydia 🤍