4 May 2025
I’ve learned, the harder I reach out to help someone, the more I must tread carefully. A good deed can lose its value in a heartbeat. The moment you lend a hand, people begin to assume you have something to spare – time, cash, energy, resources. That assumption becomes a trap, turning assistance into a burden.
At first they thank you, bow politely, and the gratitude feels genuine. Then the requests become regular, polite at first, then insistent. Before long they start demanding, and when you can no longer afford to give, they treat you as if you’ve let them down, as if you’ve defaulted on a salary or an unpaid debt. In their eyes you’re now a “benefactor” who must keep supplying, their kindness budget already pencilled into their plans. They act as though you signed up to be a rescuer and now, by refusing, you’re in the wrong.
There’s a harsher truth too: sometimes your help sparks envy rather than appreciation. “If he can afford that, he must have a surplus. Why does he get the big slice while I’m left with crumbs?” Your support is then seen not as a gift but as a slight. And when you finally say, “Sorry, I can’t do any more,” the expected sympathy is replaced by accusations and reproach.
I’ve seen this pattern repeat. First comes heartfelt thanks, then pleas, then demands, and finally anger that cheapens everything you’ve done. Assistance can swiftly turn the helper into a “debtor,” and the moment you pause, you’re cast as the guilty party.
So before I extend my hand, I remind myself: after the second or third request, I must ask whether my kindness is turning into a lifelong service. Too often people expect not gratitude but an endless obligation. The story always ends the same way – the former saviour is labelled a “traitor.” True, self‑less generosity either remains valued or is devalued in an instant, and that loss is not my fault.
—
A friend of mine, Evelyn, grew up with a childhood mate named Margaret. When Margaret lost her job, Evelyn didn’t hesitate – she handed over some cash, introduced her to contacts, even let her crash on her flat in Liverpool for a few months.
At first Margaret thanked her countless times, almost daily. Then she grew accustomed, and eventually she began to treat the help as a given. “You’re the only one I can count on, you’ll always bail me out, won’t you?” she would ask each time she needed more.
Evelyn kept giving, until one day she said, “I’m sorry, I can’t any longer. Things are tight for me as well.” Margaret’s tone changed instantly. “I was counting on you! You promised! How can a true friend act like this?” All the years of Evelyn’s support vanished from Margaret’s memory, leaving only the sting: “You didn’t help when I asked.”
The pain wasn’t the money or the lost time; it was the realization that there had never been genuine friendship, only a habit of taking.
That was when Evelyn understood the core lesson: help is worthwhile only when met with gratitude. When gratitude turns into entitlement, it ceases to be support and becomes exploitation.
Since then she offers aid only to those who are also willing to extend a hand in return. She knows that kindness must be reciprocal; otherwise it becomes a chain.
**Lesson:** I must guard my generosity, ensuring it remains a gift, not a prison.
