They Called It Maturity

Fabiola: Let me ask you something. When people say they love you, do they mean you? Or do they mean the way you make their lives easier? The way you answer, the way you fix things, the way you carry what everyone else puts down. The way you remain available even when you are exhausted. Some people have spent their entire lives being appreciated for what they provide. And have never stopped to ask whether anyone knows the person underneath it. I'm Fabiola and this is waiting, isn't working. This is a conversation we have not had on this podcast. We have talked about fear, we have talked about procrastination. We have talked about the things that keep people from starting. But what about the people who never stop moving? the people who are always doing something, just rarely anything for themselves? What about the people whose waiting looks like responsibility? Whose disappearance looks like strength? Some people are not afraid of their dreams. They are loyal to everyone else needs. They know how to show up. They know who needs a phone call, who needs encouragement, who forgot the appointment, They are dependable. responsible, strong, the person everyone calls. and perhaps that is why no one notices how long they have been absent from their own lives. We speak often about people who have reading because they are afraid. But there are People who have simply spent their lives doing what needed to be done. They raised the children, helped the family, stayed in the job, keep the peace, paid the bills, There was always something more urgent than the thing they wanted. And after enough years they stopped calling it a sacrifice. They started calling it who they are. Maybe that is you. Maybe you learned very early that being useful made you valuable. You're appraised for being mature, for not needing much, for understanding. For making things easier for everyone around you. You learn how to enter a room and immediately recognize what was missing. Then you became it the helper, the listener, the one who could be counted on, and people loved you for it. or at least they love what you made possible. But being needed is not the same as being known. People can depend on you without ever asking who you are, be need what you provide. They can admire your strength without ever asking what it costs you to remain strong. They can celebrate your generosity while becoming completely comfortable with your absence from yourself. And you may not even blame them because you helped teach them that you would always be available, that your needs could wait, that you did not mind, that you were fine. There's a particular kind of disappearance that receives applause. It does not look like neglect from the outside. It looks like sacrifice. It looks like loyalty. It looks like being a good mother, a good father, a good daughter, a good son, a good partner. A good friend, a good employee. You become so good at being good for everyone else that no one asks whether the life you are living is also good for you. And perhaps you stop asking too. Now I'm not telling you to become selfish. I'm not telling you that caring for people is a mistake. There is honor in showing up. There's beauty in service. There is love in carrying someone when they cannot carry themselves. But Service was never supposed to become your only identity. Some of us do not know what we want because we have spent so long responding to what everyone else wants from us. Ask us what the family needs, and we can answer immediately. Ask us what the job requires and we already have a list. Ask us what would make someone else happy, comfortable, proud. And we know. But ask. What do you want? And suddenly the room becomes quiet. Not because there is nothing there, but because we have not visited that part of ourselves in a very long time. Perhaps you have become suspicious of your own desires. The moment you want something for yourself, guilt appears. You think about who might be inconvenienced, who might feel abandoned, who might misunderstand? You wonder whether everyone else would be alright if you finally make a decision that does not place them at the center. And before long you return to what you know being useful. Because usefulness feels safe. But there's a difficult question underneath all of this. Who are you when no one needs anything from you? That question may feel uncomfortable because some of us have built our entire identity around being necessary. And being necessary can feel a lot like being loved. But they are not always the same. If someone only knows the version of you that performs, provides, fixes, Do they know you? And more importantly, do you And I wonder What would happen if you did not defend, minimize, or postpone what you want? What if you allowed the desire to exist? Before asking whether it could serve anyone else. You were a person before you became someone's answer, before the titles, before everyone learned your phone number by heart, because they knew you would answer. There was a self there, unassigned, not yet measured by how much she could endure. Maybe the work is not to become someone new. Maybe it is to remember the person who existed before usefulness became the price of belonging. This may disappoint people, not because you have done something wrong, but because your availability has been convenient. Your silence has been comfortable. And when you begin making room for your own life, someone may call it a change. They may say you're not the same. And perhaps the answer is no, I am finally including myself. Can you do that? You do not have to abandon the people you love in order to stop abandoning yourself. But you may have to allow other people to carry what belongs to them. You may have to survive someone's disappointment. So this week I am not asking what you are afraid of. I am not asking what dream you have postponed. I'm asking something more personal. Where have you confused being needed with being loved? You are not born only to be useful. You are born to be here. Fully. I'll see you soon.