Giving Isn’t Always Love

...how I learned to tell the difference between fear-driven generosity and soul-fed connection

Life begins to look completely different when you start to recognise who is giving from a place of abundance and who is giving from a place of lack.

This realisation hit me deeply as I started to understand myself, not just on a surface level, but in a way that required honesty, self-reflection, and unlearning. For a long time, I gave without checking in with the condition of my own heart. I poured my energy, love, time, and care into situations, people, and spaces that couldn’t, or wouldn’t, pour back into me. I was chasing connection, validation, meaning… but the truth is, I was pouring from an empty cup.

And when you give from emptiness, it catches up with you. What starts as love slowly turns into exhaustion, into resentment. And that’s not who I am at my core.

I used to think giving was always a good thing.

Love, time, energy, care, I offered them freely, believing that generosity meant goodness. That pouring myself into people and places, no matter how they held me in return, meant I was kind. Compassionate. Whole.

But I wasn’t whole. Not really.

What I was… was tired.

I didn’t realise then that I wasn’t giving from fullness, I was giving from fear. Fear of being alone. Fear of not being enough. Fear that if I stopped overextending, I’d disappear. That if I didn’t keep giving, I’d stop being worthy of love.

I didn’t see it like that at the time. I thought I was just being loving. I didn’t understand that love without boundaries can quietly transform into something else. That the line between devotion and depletion is thinner than I ever imagined. That unchecked generosity can curdle into quiet resentment when it comes from a cup already empty.

I started to notice it in small, painful ways. The relief I felt when someone canceled. The way I’d shrink after over-explaining my care. The hope that someone, anyone, might just notice. See me. Choose me back. Fill me up the way I was trying to fill everyone else.

It wasn’t noble. It was survival. And eventually, it stopped working.

So I paused. I pulled back. Not from love, but from the patterns that were disguising themselves as it. I stopped pouring into what left me dry. I stopped offering what I didn’t even have. I sat with the stillness, and with myself.

And in that stillness, something shifted. Slowly. Gently. Honestly.

I began asking different questions: What do I actually need right now? What makes me feel safe, soft, alive? What does care look like when I’m the one receiving it?

I listened. And the more I listened, the more I began to fill.

It wasn’t glamorous. It looked like long walks alone. Crying in the room. Turning my phone off. Eating meals slowly. Saying no. Saying nothing. Saying yes only when I meant it. Letting the silence stretch long enough to actually hear myself.

And over time, something happened. My love changed.

It got quieter. Truer. Softer around the edges, stronger at the center. It stopped trying to earn anything. It stopped hoping to be returned like a favour. It started growing roots, inside me.

The more I poured into myself, the more I began to overflow. Not immediately, but gradually. And from that overflow, giving became something entirely different. It wasn’t exhausting or painful. It wasn’t about being seen or appreciated. It became a natural extension of the love I had already cultivated within.

That’s the difference.

Giving from abundance is rooted in love. Giving from lack is rooted in fear, fear of being alone, of being unloved, of being unworthy. And when I didn’t understand myself, I let those fears guide my giving.

But now? Now the love I give comes from a well that’s been filled intentionally. It’s clean. It’s real. And it doesn’t ask for anything in return.

Understanding the source of your giving changes everything. It protects your peace. It redefines your relationships. It makes your love purer, not because you’re withholding, but because you’re giving from a place that’s whole.

And there is something so profoundly beautiful about that.

Now, when I give, it doesn’t hollow me out. It expands me. Because I’m not giving to be seen, or saved, or validated. I’m giving because there’s something real and steady inside me that overflows.

And that overflow? That’s the love.

Giving from abundance feels like breath.

Giving from lack feels like holding it.

And I think we all deserve to breathe.

So if you’re tired… if you’re aching… if you’re pouring and pouring and wondering why no one’s filling you back, maybe it’s time to ask yourself where your giving comes from. And what it’s costing you.

Because when love comes from a place that’s whole, it doesn’t just feel better. It is better. Cleaner. Freer. It doesn’t ask for anything in return.

It just glows.

And that kind of love?

That’s the kind I want to be known for.

- B