Someone needs something?
Oh, we're fantastic here.
Need me to pick something up while I'm out? Absolutely. Want me to look over that email before you send it? Send it over. Need someone to remember the thing you forgot, solve the problem you haven't figured out yet, listen while you talk through something for the seventeenth time?
I'm your girl.
But then someone does something nice for you.
Oh my gosh, you didn't have to do that.
They know. That's generally how gifts work.
Or someone offers to take something off your plate and you've already said, No, no, I've got it, before you've even considered the possibility that you might actually like some help.
Why do we do that?
I've been thinking about this because there's a particular kind of comfort that comes with being the person people need. You know your role.
You know what to do with a problem. You can make the meal, send the text, find the answer, remember the birthday, make the appointment, organize the thing, listen to the story, fix whatever needs fixing.
And if you're someone who genuinely likes taking care of people, a lot of that feels good. I don't want to turn generosity into some hidden psychological problem simply because we're writing a blog about it. Helping people, being dependable and showing up for the people you love are good things.
But I think there's another question worth asking:
Are you as comfortable being loved as you are being needed?
Because those aren't quite the same experience. When somebody needs you, there's usually a reason you're there. You have something to offer. There's a problem and you can help solve it.
Being loved can be far less organized. Someone wants to see you because they like being around you. That's it. No emergency. No favor. No expertise required.
They just... want you there.
And somehow that can feel more exposing than being the person who swoops in with exactly what everybody needs.
Being needed gives you something to contribute. Being loved asks you to believe that you are already contributing something simply by being there.
Whew.
Now we have to talk about receiving.
And receiving can get weird remarkably fast.
Someone compliments you and instead of just saying thank you, you immediately explain why the compliment isn't entirely accurate.
“I love your hair.”
Oh, this? It's actually so dirty.
Excellent. Glad we cleared that up.
Or someone tells you how much they appreciate you and you redirect the conversation toward something they've done. Someone brings dinner when you've had a rough week and instead of enjoying the fact that you don't have to cook, part of your brain is already calculating how you're going to repay them.
You don't want to owe anyone. You don't want to be a burden. You don't want somebody going out of their way.
And there can be plenty of perfectly normal reasons for that.
Independence isn't inherently a problem. And neither is wanting relationships to feel reciprocal.
But if every act of kindness immediately creates a debt in your head, are we actually letting ourselves receive it?
Love really isn't always a transaction that needs to get back to zero. I mean, sometimes somebody gets to carry dinner into your house — and you get to eat it.
That's the whole event.
It might feel very inefficient or like you're being unfair, but I think this is one of the ways usefulness can quietly become tangled up with identity.
You become the capable one. The dependable one. The one who remembers, handles things and figures it out. The one people call because they know you'll show up.
And people probably really do love those things about you. Why wouldn't they?
But over time, it can become difficult to separate what people appreciate about you from why you believe they want you around.
That's where being needed can start feeling safer, because needed comes with evidence. They called. They asked. They chose you. You were useful.
There. Relationship confirmed.
But being loved for who you are and not just what you do doesn't always give you that kind of proof.
Sometimes love looks like someone sitting beside you when you have absolutely nothing interesting to say. It's the friend who calls and doesn't need advice. The person who wants you at the table even though somebody else could absolutely organize dinner. Your kid crawling onto the couch beside you without needing you to find a charger, sign something or solve a crisis.
There is nothing to earn in those moments.
Which sounds lovely, doesn't it?
It absolutely does. That is unless you've spent years feeling like you have to earn your place with anyone you interact with.
Then it can feel strangely uneasy.
I think that's why some of us keep ourselves busy inside relationships without realizing it. If we're helping, anticipating, solving or carrying, we never have to sit still long enough to wonder whether we'd still be wanted without all of that.
And that is a much more vulnerable question than What can I do for you?
Because what if the answer is...
Nothing.
I just want you.
Would you know what to do with that?
I'm not sure we always do.
And this is where last week's conversation about letting ourselves be known keeps tugging at me.
Because if we're always showing up through usefulness, people may know our competence incredibly well. They know what we can handle. They know we'll answer. They know we'll show up. They know what we do for them.
But do we let them know the woman who isn't currently performing a function?
The one who's tired and doesn't want to fix it, who needs encouragement instead of giving it, who doesn't have a clever answer, who can come to dinner without bringing the dessert, coordinating the reservation and texting everyone the address?
Can she still believe she belongs at the table?
I think faith presses on this one in a way I can't really ignore.
Because so much of our relationship with God is built around a love we cannot make more deserved by being useful enough. But Lord knows, we still try.
We serve, we grow, we try to get it right. We want to be faithful with what we've been given. And yes, those things matter. But none of them convince God to love us.
He already does.
Before the productive day. Before the good decision. Before we finally get ourselves together.
There's something deeply uncomfortable yet deeply freeing about a love you can't earn, I think because it means you also can't point to everything you've done and say, See? This is why I get to stay.
You just get to stay.
Do you ever wonder how much that impacts the way we love other people too?
I mean, what would happen if we stopped treating every kindness like an invoice? If somebody could help us without us immediately finding a way to even the score or pay them back?
Just imagine if we could let ourselves hear I love having you here without mentally adding because I...
And here's something I hadn't really considered before: when we refuse to receive, we're also deciding we're the only ones who get to be the giver.
You know how good it feels to show up for someone you love. To bring the dinner. Help with the thing. Remember something that mattered to them. You weren't keeping score when you did it. You weren't standing there thinking, Excellent. They now owe me one casserole.
You just loved them.
So why is it so hard to believe someone might want to do the same for you?
Letting someone love you well doesn't make the relationship uneven. Sometimes receiving is part of how we let another person participate in it.
And I think that's part of relationship too. Not only being generous, but letting someone be generous with you. Not only knowing people, but allowing yourself to be known. And instead of becoming so indispensable that nobody could possibly function without you, trusting that you don't actually have to be indispensable to belong.
It's a lot.
So don't try to solve the whole thing. Just notice it in real life.
The next time somebody offers something — a compliment, help, dinner, their time, a seat they saved for you — notice how quickly you try to give it back.
And then I dare you... resist the urge to prove why you deserved any of it.
I know. It's gonna feel weird. But don't turn it into a whole thing. Simply receive it. Say thank you. Let them help. Eat the dinner. Sit in the chair.
You might discover something about the relationships in your life that usefulness never gave you the chance to see:
They don't only need what you can do.
They want you there.
Want to keep going with this conversation?
🎧 Ep 64: Are You Loved for Who You Are or Just Needed for What You Do? →