When I was a little kid, I learned to be a caretaker. Somehow, I got the message that I existed to help others. An early lesson learned from parents who loved me in a sincere, yet transactional way. If you do this, then, we’ll do this. Cause and effect. Our address was 4 Quid Pro Quo Lane, Anytown, USA.
Generosity that’s conditional is not generosity at all.
When giving to others comes with no strings attached, it’s a beautiful thing. For many years, I gave to others to validate my worth, thinking that if I just did enough––made myself indispensable––I’d be loved. I had no idea I could be loved for who I was, and that who I was and who I am is enough. I didn’t get that message growing up. I became a people-pleaser because making people happy brought me attention, a sense of security (that turned out to be false), and a modicum of love, however loaded.
People-pleasing was my coping mechanism, my survival skill.
There was a girl named Nina in my 1st grade class who used to hand out dollar bills to our classmates. I’d think, “why would she do that?” She was selective about her distributions; I never got one. I remember feeling a flutter in my belly, a sense of unease, as I watched her pluck a single dollar bill out of a little pink wallet to gift to her next new best friend. The flutter, the unease, wasn’t because I felt left out. I felt those things because her actions were too familiar. It was a turn-off, but that didn’t stop me from doing the same thing in more ways than just handing out cash bribes.
I acquired the habit of doing for others, giving to others, not from a place of selfless generosity, but as a cry for connection and safety. The behavior became a regular practice in my life, a knee-jerk response when I saw something that I thought was needed and wanted. I thought my actions were genuine.
Yes, I started young. No, I didn’t realize that beneath my efforts, I had an ulterior motive. I took great pride in being a good-deed-doer. I did lots of good deeds. I raised money for charity. I went door-to-door at 10 years-old, selling raffle tickets to raise money for cerebral palsy because I wanted my neighbor, Mrs. Lingley, to adore me. She lived down the block; her house was my home away from home. She was the person who set me on the road to baby philanthropy, and C.P. was her cause. I would have done anything for her. I didn’t care about her cause as much as I wanted her love and approval.
She already loved me, and all these years later, she still does. I didn’t need to do more.
I was a well-trained, highly-skilled codependent. I became a rescuer. I watched for opportunities to be the helper; someone people could depend on to come through for them in a crisis. I became quite an expert at manufacturing need when none existed.
I lived this way for most of my life, doing for others and then suffering the backlash of my actions. I became resentful of the people I helped, because they weren’t loving me enough or reciprocating.
Helping can be a power play in disguise. A covert manipulation, conscious or not. When my dad died, he left me money. I spent a lot of that money on other people, to my detriment and to the detriment of my relationships with them. I picked up dinner tabs regularly and bought people extravagant gifts. I gave so much away thinking I was helping, but I wasn’t. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t selfless. I refused to see the discomfort I created for others. I wanted something back. I never got what I was looking for and now the money’s gone. And guess what? My friends still love me, even though I’m not a hot-shot anymore. Fancy that.
In those acts of loaded generosity, I was disempowering others and I wasn’t watching out for myself. I wasn’t thinking of my future; I was desperate to be loved, to be the center of attention. I thought I was being kind. On some level, I wanted to be the hero, when I didn’t need to do more than be a good friend. That’s how little I believed in my own value. And I’d be left grumbling and angry that nothing I did worked to fill the very large hole in my heart.
I’m telling you about my history because of the awakening I’ve had. I’ve changed dramatically over the last few years. I still believe in generosity. It’s one of my core values. But my focus has shifted. I give to give. I check in with myself before I do. Is it clean? No strings? When I released my expectations and gave to others with new clarity and a commitment to my well-being first, I began to receive gifts I could never have imagined. Not material gifts, but the gifts of self-esteem, courage, and an ability to see myself as others do.
To gaze into my new mirror and love the person looking back at me.
Learning to pause and get curious about my intentions has been a miracle. Not saying yes to every demand of my time and resources has given me the freedom to thrive, to not form resentments against others. I’m not being selfish. I’m being SELF-ish. I’m loving me, first. My evolution owes credit to my therapist, the 12-step work I do daily, and my willingness to live the best life I possibly can.
I’m on the threshold of celebrating 2 years on Substack. In that time, I’ve discovered myself as a writer, started a graphic design and tech business, and I’m about to premiere my new stack, Wham! Bam! Thank You! Slam! It’s an online feminist story slam featuring writers who publish on the Substack platform. The first show, January 17, 2026, is on the second anniversary of my arrival here. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate. Not one.
A primary reason for this project is to support women writers in this publishing space. I want to showcase and promote others.
One of the most beautiful things I’ve witnessed during my time here is that true generosity abounds. I’ve attracted like-minded givers. The writers and creators I’ve met here have helped me grow as a person, as a colleague, as a friend. They’ve helped me build my readership. They’ve contributed to my confidence, they’ve boosted me, sharing my writing and cheering me on. The thing I love most is the support I witness every day. People come from their hearts, expecting nothing in return. I want to believe that it’s not transactional. We get excited for one another when good things happen.
How lovely to witness generosity in action during this horrid time when so many seem to only be out for themselves.
When I coach my clients about growth on Substack, the first thing I tell them is to be generous, to promote other people’s work, to always respond to their readers comments. To engage and be real. No one is our competition because we’re unique. We have distinct voices.
I tell my students, my clients to read and recommend the smaller stacks. To restack other peoples’ work, but to take an extra minute to add a comment. To slow down and and take a sec to tip their hats to a writer who’s moved them. To be kind.
The big names, the “stars,” don’t need our help, not the way those of us with smaller followings could benefit from someone else noticing us and sharing our efforts.
I sing the praises of Substack every day, even when I complain about things they could do better. There are a lot of things they can do better, but mostly, they’re doing great. Being here, in combination with the work I’ve done in my 12-Step program has been utterly transformative. I’m living the life I’ve always dreamed of. I know, at last, that I am enough, MORE than enough. I matter and I belong. That’s the crux, isn’t it?
I belong.
I’ve never felt that way before. I’m part of something greater than myself here. All of you, the people who read my stories and comment so generously, the writers whom I’ve become friends with over these last 2 years, the writers I LOVE to read––you’ve been my sustenance. I’ve seen what’s possible when people come together and lift each other up. That’s the work. The love. The relationships. The community. We’re building it together. We’re making miracles here.
I’m so happy to be a citizen of Substackland. It’s a magical place to reside.
I’m clear about what the next right thing is for me.
I’m going to continue the spirit of generosity at Wham! Bam! Thank You! Slam! I hope you’ll join me there, it’s gonna be a helluva great time.
Thank you for the best 2 years of my life.
Periodically, I like do shout-outs for my writer pals, the people who inspire me, who I want you to know, so you can be inspired, too. I’m going to do my best to not miss anyone, but I’m not sure I’ll get it right. So please, if you know in your heart that you’ve touched mine, accept my thanks, my x’s and o’s, and forgive me for my lapses. Or call me out in the comments, that could be fun. Then I’ll add you to this post. If you think you should be on this list, then I agree.
To my readers, I love calling you my readers: Every single one of you. Thank you for your vulnerable and kind comments, your encouragement and your all-around support whether you are a free or paid subscriber. I cherish your interest in what I have to say. I cherish what you have to say. It’s the best gift ever.
To the writers: For inspiring me every day. You make my life rich with your wisdom and humor, with your over-the-top support. Readers, if you’re not familiar with their work, take a look. You won’t be sorry.
Slamone de Beauvoir • Elizabeth Beggins • Kari Bentley-Quinn Amrita Skye Blaine • Amy Brown • Laury Boone Browning Eileen Vorbach Collins • Amy Cowen • Rhaine Della Bosca • Jodi Sh. Doff Eileen Dougharty • Leah Eichler • Mesa Fama • Amy Gabrielle • Blair Glaser Jess Greenwood • Douglas Halpert • Amanda B. Hinton • Dina Honour Marya Hornbacher • Nancy Jainchill • Alisa Kennedy Jones • Cathy Joseph Susan Kacvinsky • Kristi Keller 🇨🇦 • Dr. Heidi • Rona Maynard Sandra Ann Miller • Lyns McCracken • Prajna O'Hara • Christina Patterson Mary Roblyn • Leslie Senevey • Sly • Irena Smith • Chris Stanton SuddenlyJamie Holly Starley • Robin Taylor (he/him) • Untrickled by Michelle Teheux Kelly Thompson TNWWY • Susan J Tweit • Kimberly Warner Katrina Anne Willis • Wendy Wolf
And geez…get your tickets to January’s first show! We have 100 seats and they’re going fast. If you haven’t seen Wham! Bam! Thank You! Slam! yet, head on over and take a look. I’m very proud of the work I’m doing with my pal, Eileen Dougharty.
