Part 2: When Helping Hurts

If you’ve always been a helper, then you know how good it can feel to make someone’s day a little easier, to meet a need, fill a gap, or carry someone else’s burden. That feeling of “I did something good today” has carried me through a lot of hard seasons.

But what happens when helping... doesn’t help?

That’s a question I never expected to ask. Because helping was who I was. I was raised to serve. I became a nurse. I was the one people leaned on. I always tried to do what I thought would bless the people I loved.

So when I found myself helping, and hurting, I didn’t know what to do with that.

I remember one conversation with my husband, who I love with all my heart, that broke me open in a way I didn’t see coming. We had just started our own business, and I was still working full-time as a nurse, carrying a lot of the financial load while he focused on growing the business. It was hard, but I believed in the dream and wanted to be supportive. So in my “helper” mindset, I did what I knew: I tried to anticipate needs, handle behind-the-scenes stuff, keep things together at home, and do a million small things I thought would ease his burden.

Then one day, in a conversation about the business, he looked at me and said,

“You’re not really being a good business partner right now. You’re not doing anything to help me grow the business.”

I wish I could tell you I stayed calm, but I didn’t. I got defensive and started listing all the things I had done for him—things I thought he should appreciate.

Now, if you know my husband, you know that back then, he wasn’t one for sugarcoating. He was all about facts. And the “facts,” according to him that day, were that there were specific things he had told me would be helpful to him if I would do them. But I hadn't done them. I chose to do all the other things I thought needed done. And all those things, though maybe thoughtful, weren’t helpful to the business.

“I don’t need you to do those things,” he said. “I need you to help me to do the things that actually help grow this business.”

I felt so small and so confused.

I didn't know how to do the things that would actually be helpful so instead, I chose to give all I had in the ways I knew, and that wasn’t helping. It wasn’t even needed, and, at that moment, it felt like I was invisible to him. I didn’t just feel unappreciated—I felt unnecessary.

I couldn’t stop the thought from creeping in:

“If I’m not helpful... do I even matter?”

The thing that made me me—that helper identity I had clung to all my life, suddenly felt useless. I didn’t know how to be a business owner. I knew how to take care of really sick kids. I knew how to pray for people in crisis. I knew how to bring meals and offer support. But this? This I didn’t know. And for the first time, I wondered if I could ever become what he truly needed.

It was a difficult time, one of the hardest for me, personally.

That conversation made me realize something that hurt me to the core: my worth had become tied to whether or not someone else saw value in what I was offering. I wasn’t just helping to serve, I was helping to be seen. To be validated. And when that validation didn’t come, it felt like a rejection of me.

But here’s what I’ve learned since then:
Helping from a place of purpose is life-giving. But helping from a place of insecurity will always leave you empty. 

The kind of helping that drains us isn’t really about service, it’s about survival. It’s about trying to earn love, respect, value, or purpose through our usefulness. And that kind of helping hurts, especially when we don’t get the response we’re hoping for.

There’s a difference between being needed and being known.

I’ve had to untangle that in my marriage, in motherhood, in ministry, and in business. I’ve had to learn that being a helper doesn’t mean doing all the things people didn’t ask for, then feeling crushed when they don’t notice. It means listening, learning, and sometimes helping in ways that stretch me outside of my comfort zone.

But most of all, it means knowing that my value doesn’t disappear when someone doesn’t acknowledge my effort. My value is constant because it comes from my Creator, not from how helpful I am or how appreciated I feel.

So, if you’re reading this and you’ve ever poured out and felt invisible, I want you to know: you are not alone. You’re not crazy. You’re not “too sensitive.” You’re just someone who cares deeply. And caring deeply in a world that doesn’t always see it? That’s courageous.

And as you’ll see in the next part of this series, this moment was just the beginning of a bigger shift, one that started with a simple but soul-shaking question:

Who’s writing your story? 

Reflection Prompt:
Have you ever found yourself helping in ways that weren’t received or appreciated? What did it reveal about how you see your worth?