it’s easy to give out of place of insecurity

why over-giving is often a strategy for validation, not an expression of love

It took me a while to realize that not all giving comes from the same place.

For a long time, I thought I was generous. I thought I was loving deeply, showing up fully, investing in people and relationships in a way that meant something. From the outside, it could probably be read that way. But if I’m honest, most of my giving did not come from abundance. It came from lack.

It’s easier to give from insecurity than from self-worth.

When you don’t feel like you’re enough, giving becomes a way to close that gap. You offer more of yourself than you should. You make yourself more available, more accommodating, more understanding than you actually feel. You learn how to be low maintenance, easy to be around, someone who does not require much but gives a lot. Not because that’s who you are, but because it feels like the safest way to be chosen.

I didn’t see it that clearly at the time. It felt like effort. It felt like care. It felt like love.

But it was something else.

Giving from insecurity is exhausting in a way that is hard to explain until you step out of it.

It feels like constantly running on nothing. There is always a low-level tension underneath everything. You are aware of how the other person feels, how they respond, how much they give back. You adjust in real time. You give more when things feel uncertain. You pull back slightly when you feel them pulling away, but never enough to risk losing them completely.

It’s not calm. It’s not grounded. It’s not free.

Giving from self-worth feels almost unrecognizable in comparison. It’s slower. There is no urgency to secure anything. You take your time. You let things build. You don’t try to accelerate connection just to feel safe. There is a sense that you already have enough within yourself, so whatever you give does not come at your expense.

It feels lighter. Not because you care less, but because you are no longer trying to hold everything together.

Looking back, I don’t think I was giving freely.

I was investing.

There was always something I was hoping to receive in return, even if I never said it out loud. Attention. Consistency. Reassurance. A sense of being chosen.

I thought if I gave enough, it would stabilize things. If I showed up in the right way, it would make the other person stay. If I became easy enough to love, it would finally feel secure.

But that kind of giving comes with pressure. Not just for you, but for the other person too.

I can see that more clearly now. I would not want to be responsible for someone else’s sense of worth. I would not want to feel like my presence or absence determines whether someone feels enough.

And yet, for a long time, that’s exactly what I was asking for.

I used to think that what I felt was love.

It looked like attachment. It looked like sacrifice. It looked like endurance. I stayed even when things felt wrong. I tolerated more than I should have. I adjusted myself to fit what the situation required.

At the time, that felt like commitment.

Now it feels like something closer to fear.

Fear of losing the person.

Fear of starting over.

Fear of being alone with myself.

I don’t think I loved those people the way I thought I did. I think I loved what being with them gave me. The sense of security I couldn’t create on my own. The validation that temporarily quieted everything inside me.

I loved the relationship more than I loved myself.

There is a part of this that is uncomfortable to admit.

I didn’t just end up in the wrong situations. I was available for them.

My standards were not as clear as I thought they were. Or maybe they were, but I didn’t follow them. I was too focused on being chosen to pay attention to whether I was actually choosing.

I ignored things I should have walked away from.

I stayed longer than I should have.

I made myself smaller so things would feel easier.

There was a kind of self-abandonment in it that I didn’t recognize at the time.

It felt like effort. It felt like trying. It felt like caring.

But it came at a cost.

There was also something else in it. Not just insecurity, but ego.

I wanted to be chosen. I wanted to be the one that made it work. I wanted to be irreplaceable. There was a part of me that wanted proof that I was worth choosing, especially after everything I had been through.

That made it harder to let go.

Because leaving did not just mean losing the person. It meant losing the story I was trying to confirm about myself.

What made the pattern difficult to break was how it felt in the moment.

There is a high that comes with being chosen. With receiving attention. With feeling like you are at the center of someone’s focus. It can make everything else fade for a while.

And then it disappears, and you try to get it back.

You give more. You adjust more. You invest more.

It becomes a cycle.

At some point, I realized I wasn’t really responding to the person in front of me. I was responding to the feeling they gave me, and trying to hold onto it.

The shift did not happen all at once.

It came from seeing the same pattern repeat. From noticing how quickly things would escalate. From recognizing how much of my behavior was driven by urgency rather than clarity.

I started to take things slower. Not because I suddenly became patient, but because I could see what happened when I didn’t.

I started leaving situations I would have stayed in before. Not because it was easy, but because staying felt heavier.

I started questioning what I was actually doing when I gave so much.

And eventually, I had to look at what I was avoiding.

I don’t think I have a perfect definition of love yet.

I haven’t fully experienced it without any anxiety.

But I know what I no longer want.

I don’t want relationships that feel heavy or uncertain all the time. I don’t want to feel like I have to hold everything together. I don’t want to rush into something just to feel secure.

What I want now is simpler.

Something calm.

Something steady.

Something that feels like a choice on both sides.

The kind of dynamic where both people can leave, and still choose to stay. Not because they need to, but because they want to.

That does not mean the old patterns are completely gone.

There are still moments where I feel the urge to speed things up. To question my decisions. To go back to what feels familiar, even if it’s not healthy.

But the difference is that I notice it now.

And that changes how I respond.

Giving feels different now.

It’s not driven by urgency. It’s not a way to secure anything. It’s not something I use to prove my worth.

It comes from a place that feels more stable. More internal.

I make sure my life feels full on its own. That I enjoy my own company. That I can leave when something is not aligned, even if part of me wants to stay.

And from there, giving becomes lighter.

Not because it matters less, but because it no longer carries the same weight.

I used to think giving more would make me more lovable.

Now I think it just made me easier to overlook.

And I don’t want to be loved for how little I require.

I would rather be chosen for who I am, without having to abandon parts of myself to make that happen.