Being Needed Can Become a Way of Avoiding Yourself
When your identity rests on what you do for others, an empty diary can feel surprisingly threatening.
An empty diary can expose what a full one keeps quiet.
When there is somewhere to be, someone to support, or a problem to solve, the day has shape. You know where to direct your energy. Your contribution feels visible.
Then a space opens.
You expected relief. Instead, your mind starts searching for something to fill it.
I have started paying attention to that response in myself. After years of building projects, hosting conversations, and bringing people together, I am comfortable having a purpose outside my own immediate needs. There is satisfaction in helping an idea become something others can enter.
But I am less familiar with a day that asks very little of me.
That is harder to admit than being busy.
Much of my work involves relationships. Through podcast interviews, writing, community engagement, and events, I have learned how much can change when someone feels heard. A conversation creates trust. Trust makes an introduction possible. Eventually, people who might never have met begin working together.
I care about that work. It has given my experience somewhere useful to go.
Yet caring deeply about others does not automatically mean we understand what caring allows us to avoid. Sometimes, the person who can organise the room struggles to sit quietly in their own.
I recognise how quickly usefulness can become an answer to questions I have barely allowed myself to ask. If somebody needs my contribution, I have a place. When an invitation arrives, there is evidence that I matter.
Those feelings are human. The difficulty comes when they become the main way we establish our worth. Then every request carries more weight than it should.
Accepting another task can feel easier than explaining that you have reached your limit. Declining an opportunity raises an uncomfortable possibility: perhaps they will stop asking.
And if the invitations stop, what remains?
I have spent considerable time developing the ability to contribute. Returning to education, publishing my thinking, and learning through other people’s experiences have all strengthened that capacity.
What I have practised less is allowing myself to matter without demonstrating it.
There is always evidence available. Articles written. Conversations hosted. Projects delivered. Looking back across the work can reassure me that my time has served a purpose.
But reassurance has a short life when the question underneath remains untouched. Being useful today cannot guarantee that I will feel secure tomorrow. The temptation is to keep the evidence coming.
This can be difficult to recognise in work built around service. Commitment is valued. Flexibility helps. People often need support at inconvenient times, and there are occasions when making extra space is the right thing to do.
I know that reality.
I also know that meaningful work can absorb almost everything offered to it. There will rarely be a moment when every need has been met, and permission to stop arrives. We have to make judgments while something remains unfinished.
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That requires accepting that our absence may inconvenience someone without making it a moral failure. For people accustomed to being dependable, this can feel surprisingly uncomfortable. Reliability becomes part of how others know us. We begin protecting that reputation even when the cost is becoming difficult to carry.
Eventually, people receive our availability more consistently than they encounter our preferences. They know what we can do. They may have little idea what we enjoy.
Sometimes, neither do we.
Approaching fifty has made me look more closely at that distinction. I have been asking what brings energy into my life beyond the satisfaction of completing something important.
The answers have been revealing.
I feel alive in the mountains. There is adventure in climbing towards a view that extends beyond the immediate horizon. Sitting beside the ocean brings a different freedom. My attention settles on something larger than the next obligation.
Nobody needs a performance from me there.
I am simply involved in being alive.
Remembering my years in fitness has brought similar clarity. I loved the people, the independence, and the energy of that work. Running my own business held uncertainty, but also a sense of possibility. Enjoyment was part of the experience itself.
That matters because it reminds me that I have known other ways of feeling purposeful. Contribution and pleasure have existed together before. They can again.
The challenge is making room for them before another responsibility fills the space.
I am beginning to understand that an empty afternoon needs some protection. Otherwise, the familiar instinct takes over. A message gets answered. An idea becomes a project. Time that briefly belonged to me acquires another purpose.
There is nothing remarkable about any individual decision. The pattern only becomes visible across months.
You realise that almost everyone has received something from you, while your own curiosity has been waiting patiently at the edge of the day.
I do not want to keep asking it to wait.
This has implications for how I lead as well. If being needed reassures me, I have to consider whether I sometimes hold responsibilities that somebody else could grow into. Supporting people includes allowing them to develop beyond their reliance on us.
That can mean sharing a relationship, handing over a task, or accepting that another person will approach it differently. Their confidence may increase as our central role becomes smaller.
There is maturity in welcoming that change.
It asks us to find satisfaction in what continues without our constant involvement. For me, the practical work begins before saying yes. I need enough space to notice my response. Does the request interest me? Can I carry it well? What will receive less attention if I agree?
Those answers deserve consideration alongside the needs of the person asking.
I am also learning to notice the urge to fill quiet time without immediately obeying it. The discomfort can remain for a while. I can go for a walk. Let an afternoon unfold. Discover what I reach for when nobody has assigned me a role.
Perhaps that is how a neglected relationship with ourselves begins to recover. I still want to contribute. There are conversations worth having and ideas I hope to develop.
But the next time my diary opens, I want to leave enough space to discover who else I am.
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