Burnt Offering

“You are not required to set yourself on fire to keep others warm.” —Unknown 

People will take your oil, wait for you to replenish it—and then take that too.

That’s a truth I’ve come face to face with—time and again. And for far too long, I ignored its ramifications.

Recently, I confronted the harsh truth that I am frequently the one extending a hand—both to offer help and to seek it. I am the safe haven, the person they rely on to call. Not only to show concern but to shoulder their burdens. Unfortunately, it's not always because they care about my struggles too, but because they know I will become absorbed by theirs. I must acknowledge my role in this dynamic; too often, I made myself available, and as a result, I've been taken for granted.

Because I always do. Because I always have.

Because I’ve taught them, over time, that I will answer—even on empty. That I will stretch—even when I’m already unraveling. That I will show up—masking my own heaviness to make theirs feel light.

And the sad truth? It’s rarely reciprocated.

Not because they’re all malicious, but because somewhere along the way, I stopped requiring anything different.

And while I count it an honor to be seen as strong, the truth is, strength doesn’t mean I’m never empty.

I’ve found myself pouring from a place of depletion, offering balm while my own wounds remain untended, carrying burdens that aren’t mine while barely staying afloat beneath the weight of my own.

It’s not just exhaustion—it’s sacrificial imbalance.

Admittedly, I now stand face to face with a blurry reflection of myself staring back at me— a posture once unfamiliar, now all too recognizable. Shaped by the quiet loss of self at the expense of sparing others.

I’ve talked myself into dimming my brilliance, convinced that my expression of self-love was somehow suffocating the room. But in truth, I was just taking up space in an environment

that was never built to hold me.

And instead of standing firm in the unapologetic identity I claimed, the recovering people-pleaser in me kept talking myself out of the position that was divinely ordained for me.

But I see it now.

Because what good is a full lamp to others if I’ve burned myself to keep them lit?