Be the Lighthouse. Quit Being the Tugboat.
I’ll help damn near anybody. I know what it’s like to struggle, make a mess of your life, and need somebody to give you a chance.
But there comes a point when helping somebody starts costing you pieces of yourself.
You listen. You show up. You give them another chance. Meanwhile, the same behavior keeps coming through your front door, and you’re the one cleaning up afterward.
Their pain deserves compassion. So does yours.
I’m learning that I can care about somebody and still say, “You don’t get to keep doing this to me.”
Maybe they don’t care what it costs me. Maybe they’re so wrapped up in their own storm that they won’t look. Either way, I have to pay attention to the damage—and take responsibility for what I keep allowing.
That means doing some uncomfortable work on myself, too. Why did I keep saying yes? What was I afraid would happen if I stopped? When did being needed become more important than being treated with respect?
Those questions aren’t about blaming myself for somebody else’s behavior. They help me decide what happens next.
So I’m working on being the lighthouse.
I can keep a light on. Point toward safer ground. Offer encouragement and help that I can actually afford to give.
But I can’t keep leaving my foundation to drag somebody away from the same rocks they keep steering toward.
I’ve got my own repairs to make. A family that needs me. A life I want to be present for.
I still care. I’m just including myself in the people worth taking care of.
The light can stay on. The towing service is closed.
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