I am my source

Dear Crew,

There's a phrase I used to think was really beautiful. "I'm always here for you."

I wanted to be that kind of person. Someone who listens. Who offers encouragement. Who sees possibilities where others see only problems.

And that was me. I was the person people called when they needed advice. When they wanted to dream. When they wanted to be understood. When they wanted to feel alive.

I enjoyed doing that. It was just my nature.

Until, at some point, I realized that I had become a source for many people. But hardly anyone asked how much water was left in it.

A spring seems inexhaustible. You go there. You take from it. You leave. And at some point, the spring itself realizes that it has barely had any time to refill.

Not because people were evil. But because she was always available.

I think many of us confuse generosity with boundlessness. We think that love must mean always being available. Always open. Always ready.

But there's something we often forget: Even a spring needs rain.

Something changed inside me last year. I started treating my energy as something precious. Not out of fear, but out of self-love. And also because the profound changes in my life had left me with hardly any energy at all.

I've realized that not every invitation leads to a meeting. Not every conversation leads to a connection. Not every friendship feels like home.

Some relationships thrive on one person always giving—and the other always coming back.

I used to be afraid of disappointing people. Now I'm more afraid of letting myself down.

That's a big difference.

Sometimes self-care doesn't mean doing more yoga or saying "no" more often. Sometimes it means letting someone go, even though you know it will make them sad. Not because you want to punish them, but because you don't want to lose yourself anymore.

I no longer believe that I have to be a source for everyone. I believe in tending to my own source first. Nurturing it. Making sure it doesn't run dry.

For only a living source can truly give at all.

Perhaps growing up is the moment when we realize that our energy is finite. And that we are responsible for where it goes.

I used to think that generosity meant holding the door open for everyone. Today I know that generosity begins when I stop neglecting myself.

I am my source. And I consciously decide with whom I share it.

With love and clear water,
Jeannette