Kindness Without Self-Abandonment
Recently, someone asked my spiritual teacher whether we should be kind even to people who are unkind—or genuinely mean—to us. His answer was an immediate and absolute yes. I understood what he meant, but part of me still cringed. I spent years recovering from codependency, and for much of my life, being kind meant putting myself last. I gave away work, opportunities, possessions, time, attention, and enormous amounts of emotional energy. If somebody needed something, I gave it to them, even when I had nothing left to give. I thought this was generosity. Often, it was self-abandonment wearing the respectable clothing of kindness.
This is why conversations about kindness can become confusing for people who have histories of people-pleasing, over-functioning, or losing themselves in relationships. Kindness is usually described as though we all begin from the same psychological place. We do not. A person who has spent a lifetime defending against vulnerability may need to soften, listen, and become more generous. A person who learned to survive by anticipating everyone else’s needs may need to become less accommodating, tolerate someone’s disappointment, and say no. The same behavior is not healthy for every person. Sometimes giving is kindness. Sometimes refusing to give is kindness. We have to understand what is happening underneath the behavior.
People-pleasing also creates a kind of false presentation, even though the person doing it is not deliberately trying to deceive anyone. When I fall into people-pleasing, I can appear extraordinarily helpful, patient, understanding, and interested. I may listen to someone’s problems, offer advice based on my education and professional experience, and become the most wonderful friend in the world. But without realizing it, I have created a one-way flow of energy. I am doing for free what I normally do professionally and calling it a friendship. The other person may become comfortable receiving while knowing very little about me, and I may eventually feel unseen or used, even though I helped create the arrangement.
This is what Harriet Lerner called over-functioning, and it can be remarkably difficult to correct after it becomes the structure of a relationship. When I recognize that I have done it, I try to acknowledge my part rather than simply accusing the other person of taking advantage of me. Then comes the awkward question: How do we turn this into a more balanced relationship? I do not have a universal answer. Sometimes two people can talk honestly, endure the discomfort, and establish a new way of relating. Other times, the relationship cannot survive once the over-functioning person stops supplying all the emotional labor. That does not necessarily mean the boundary was wrong. It may reveal what had been holding the relationship together.
At an equine-assisted learning workshop, we worked with the phrase “asking for respect while staying connected.” That stopped me in my tracks. I could ask for respect, although I often waited too long and did it after frustration had accumulated. Staying connected while asking was much harder. Boundaries are frequently presented as something we announce and then walk away from, but a mature boundary does not automatically require disconnection. It says, “I want to remain in relationship with you, and this is what I require in order to do that.” Of course, the other person must be willing and able to participate. Many people experience a boundary as rejection, especially if they are accustomed to benefiting from the absence of one.
There is also the question of what we do when someone appears almost too kind, too patient, or too perfect. My teacher recently made the observation that evil can hide behind the face of innocence. Con artists, malignant narcissists, and other predatory people do not usually introduce themselves by appearing dangerous. They may initially seem unusually generous, charming, understanding, or devoted. We now have language such as “love bombing” for some of this behavior, but people have always known that what looks too good to be true deserves time and observation. Personally, I trust people who have visible flaws, lose their tempers occasionally, say something badly, apologize, and make amends. Perfect people make me nervous. I wonder how long it will take before I meet the rest of them.
This does not mean that every exceptionally helpful person is secretly manipulative. Some are frightened people-pleasers who have not yet learned how to be present without performing usefulness. I know because I have been one. The problem is not kindness itself; it is kindness that requires a person to disappear. When I give because I am afraid you will reject me, become angry, or stop loving me, the action may look kind while the energy underneath it is fear. When I listen endlessly because being needed makes me feel safe, I am not creating an equal relationship. I am participating in a bargain that neither person may recognize until resentment appears.
Authentic kindness therefore has to begin with kindness toward ourselves. Before I decide what to give, say, tolerate, or refuse, I have to come back inside and find out what is actually true for me. Am I available for this? Do I genuinely want to help? Am I acting from love, or am I trying to control how the other person sees me? Am I giving freely, or am I hoping that my generosity will purchase security? These are not accusations. They are questions that help us distinguish kindness from survival behavior.
Being kind to yourself does not mean making yourself comfortable at everyone else’s expense. It means becoming internally steady enough to respond without sacrificing either person’s humanity. Sometimes authentic kindness is gentle and reassuring. Sometimes it says, “No, you cannot speak to me that way.” It may end a conversation, fire an employee, leave a relationship, or stop someone from harming another person. Kindness can be very strong. It can be a fire, a wall, or a tsunami. The question is not simply what the action looks like from the outside. The question is what energy, intention, and level of consciousness are guiding it.
This is why kindness is a hard-ass practice for many of us. It asks us to resist both retaliation and self-erasure. We do not have to become cruel because someone else is cruel, but neither do we have to offer ourselves up for further harm. We can protect ourselves without needing to humiliate or destroy another person. We can recognize manipulation without becoming consumed by hatred. We can ask for respect while making room for connection, and we can accept that sometimes the other person will refuse that invitation.
In my private work, I often meet sensitive and intuitive people who can feel everyone else but have difficulty finding themselves in the middle of all that information. Psychology, Parts Work, psychic perception, energy work, and decades of spiritual practice have taught me that boundaries become clearer when we stop treating them as techniques and begin experiencing them from inside.
If you would like help exploring the difference between kindness, fear, and self-abandonment in your own life, I offer a complimentary 30-minute phone or Zoom conversation.
Dr. Marie | Life Path Healings
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