I Give Too Much of Myself
Lately, I just want a break.
I’ve been on the path forward for as long as I can remember. Motivated by the future, I have looked forward through every stage of life. I couldn’t wait to be thirteen, I couldn’t wait to be sixteen, then twenty-one. I dreamed about college, about studying abroad, and my post-grad plans. When I started working, I was impatient about climbing the professional ladder.
In my late twenties, I was impatient to start a family. When my two girls were born, looking forward focused on daily growth and stages- when would they roll over, sit tripod, take their first steps, use a toddler bed, be potty trained? I looked forward to each milestone with excitement and pride.
After all of that wishing and forward-thinking, I’ve come to realize that it happened too quickly. All of it. I wished the days away. They’ve come and gone and now it feels like our family is hurtling toward the cliff of the unknown- an uncertain and possibly scary future, and all I want to do is dig my heels in and stop the train from going off of the tracks.
For the first time in my life, I want to be in the here and now. The practice is both meditative and terrifying. I observe patterns and trends in my behavior, habits that became deeply entrenched while I was pushing us all forward.
The most notable observation is that I am a giver.
I give my time. I give my energy. I give advice. I give counsel. I give instructions. I give directions. I give feedback. I give guidance. I give boundaries. I give my money. I give gifts. I give my resources. I give love and laughter. I give space. I give a home and comfort, warmth and safety. I give a shoulder to cry on, an ear for listening. I give a hand when it is needed. I give nourishment. I give opportunities for growth and nets for safe failures. I give incentives and repercussions. I give stability. I give my opinion. I give encouragement and kind words. I give support. I give praise and thanks. I give gratitude. I give well wishes.
I also take things, too.
I take others’ time and energy. I take instructions and direction. I take feedback and criticism. I take guidance. I take resources. I take space and warmth and safety. I take shoulders for crying and so many listening ears. I take help and support. I take opinions. I take in information. I take encouragement and thanks. I also take everything to heart. I take myself too seriously. I take others' feelings and absorb them as my own. I take the weight of the world and place it on my shoulders. I take other people’s shit. I take on more than I can do. I take medication.
All of this giving and taking has left me with one overarching, giant, all-encompassing feeling: I am tired.
Lately, I just want to take a break.
I want to give up. I want to give in. I want to take a break from giving. I need a giving break. I could probably use a break from taking, too.
The New York Times best-selling author Adam Grant has done a great deal of research on givers and takers in the professional realm. In his writing, he discusses the ways we interact with one another based on our proclivity for either taking or giving. He argues that one is not necessarily better than the other and that you can get ahead by giving. It’s all about how we interact with each other.
Yet, there must be a balance.
Give. Take. Repeat.
There must be a balance.
How do we interact with ourselves? How do we find balance between our own giving and taking? How do we not burn out by this cycle of giving and taking, especially when we are trying to give the best of ourselves and we tend to take in the negative? Especially in our current world state of affairs with global pandemics, mass shootings, glaciers melting at a rapid rate, fires demolishing our rain forests and increasing political chaos upending our lives? We have a call to action. We must give more. We must take less.
But how?
I do not know. I do not have the answer. I want to tell you that there is a silver lining, or a light at the end of the tunnel, or a rainbow after the storm. I can’t look forward. I must look to right now, in this moment, so I don’t fall off the cliff of the future. I’m afraid that I’ve met my giving capacity right when it is needed the most.
I don’t what else I can take.
I need a break.
