If You Need to Hear This Today…

You can care deeply about what is happening around you and still not have endless amounts of yourself to give.

That doesn’t make your care less meaningful.

There is no shortage of people who need help. No shortage of causes worth caring about. No shortage of problems you could give your time, money, energy, attention, or heart to.

Which means if the only question you ask is:

Where am I needed?

The answer could very easily become:

Everywhere.

And everywhere is an impossible place to show up.

I spend a lot of time around people who care deeply. In my therapy practice, through this podcast, and when I’m speaking to organizations about burnout and emotional wellbeing, I meet people who are incredibly capable of noticing what other people need.

Often very capable.

They see the coworker struggling.

The friend going through something.

The family member who needs more support.

The problem at work nobody seems to be addressing.

The cause that deserves attention.

The person who needs someone to step in.

And because they can help, somewhere along the way it becomes very easy to believe that they should.

But lately, I’ve been wondering if there is another question worth asking.

Not:

Where else am I needed?

But:

Where do I come alive while helping?

That question became the heart of a recent conversation I had with social worker, author, and community advocate Jalysa King on Don’t Cut Your Own Bangs.

I had watched Jalysa from a distance for a while before we really knew each other. I kept seeing her involved in meaningful things—writing children’s books, working in social services, supporting nonprofits, showing up in her community.

And yet what struck me wasn’t simply how much she was doing.

It was the energy she seemed to bring to it.

There was lightness there.

And I wanted to understand why.

Because I’ve also spent a lot of time around people doing deeply meaningful work who have slowly become weary, burdened, cynical, or burned out from spending so much of their lives close to things that are hard.

What if the answer isn’t learning how to care less?

What if part of the answer is becoming more thoughtful about where our care goes?

When Caring Quietly Becomes an Obligation

There is a subtle shift that can happen when you’re someone who naturally notices other people’s needs.

You begin with:

I care.

Then:

I could help.

And without necessarily realizing it, those two thoughts become:

I should help.

That’s a very different relationship with caring.

Because once could becomes should, there is almost no natural stopping point.

There’s always another person.

Another organization.

Another email.

Another family member.

Another problem.

Another worthy cause.

Another place where your time or talents could make something a little better.

And this is where I think many caring people accidentally get trapped.

We assume the solution to caring deeply is developing a larger capacity to carry.

But perhaps sustainable caring isn’t about increasing how much you can hold.

Perhaps it’s also about learning how to discern what is actually yours to hold.

One of the things I talk about when I’m speaking to organizations about burnout is that we often focus on what people need to do differently without first getting curious about the relationship they’ve developed with responsibility.

Because two people can have equally demanding calendars and experience them very differently.

The question isn’t only:

Do I have enough time?

It might also be:

Do I have the energy and capacity for the way I’m using that time?

And that distinction matters.

Helping Doesn’t Have to Feel Heavy to Matter

One of my favorite moments in my conversation with Jalysa came when she talked about The Gifted Gown.

The Gifted Gown provides formal wear at no cost so financial barriers don’t prevent someone from participating in moments like prom, homecoming, military balls, or galas.

That’s the need.

But here’s what Jalysa actually does when she’s there:

She plays personal shopper.

She helps people try on beautiful dresses.

She celebrates when someone finds the one.

There’s laughter and excitement and what Jalysa described as the “Cinderella moment.”

In other words:

They’re playing dress-up.

And they’re also serving someone.

Those things aren’t in conflict.

Jalysa told me that doing something she genuinely enjoys while still meeting someone else’s need will always fill her cup.

I keep thinking about that.

Because somewhere along the way, many of us picked up the idea that the seriousness of a contribution can be measured by how much it costs us.

If it was easy, did it really count?

If I enjoyed myself, was I actually sacrificing enough?

If the problem is serious, shouldn’t my response feel serious too?

But what if it doesn’t?

What if the way into something heavy can sometimes be small, simple, or light?

Maybe you cuddle dogs at an animal shelter.

Maybe you plant flowers.

Maybe you read to children.

Maybe you cook.

Maybe you paint.

Maybe you’re the person who can organize a chaotic room in ten minutes and somehow enjoy every second of it.

Maybe you love clothes.

Maybe you love spreadsheets.

Maybe you know how to knit.

And maybe—as Jalysa and I discovered during this conversation—knitting is absolutely not your ministry.

That’s useful information, too.

You Don’t Have to Be Good at Everything Good

I think this is where conversations about purpose can become unnecessarily intimidating.

We start looking for The Thing.

The cause.

The calling.

The giant meaningful contribution we’re supposed to make with our lives.

Meanwhile, some of the most meaningful forms of service are hiding inside things that seem completely ordinary.

During our conversation, Jalysa talked about people who knit and crochet completing unfinished projects left behind by someone who died.

Think about how specific that is.

Someone loves yarn.

Someone else is grieving.

Somewhere those two things meet.

That’s service.

It doesn’t require the person who hates knitting to become a knitter because knitting is helping somebody.

It requires the knitter to notice:

Wait. Something I love doing could matter here.

That’s a very different way of thinking about purpose.

Maybe purpose isn’t always something you have to go out and discover.

Sometimes it’s something you recognize at the intersection of:

What matters to me?

and

What do I naturally have to give?

Service Doesn’t Always Look Like Service

Jalysa’s work also includes Brooke’s Place, an organization supporting children, teens, young adults, and families experiencing grief.

Grief is about as “heavy” as a topic can get.

And yet Jalysa described spaces at Brooke’s Place filled with art supplies, music, play, an expression room, and even a volcano room where kids can physically release some of what they’re carrying.

People cry.

And people laugh.

They play.

They make things.

They coexist.

That part of our conversation challenged something in me, too.

As a therapist, I can accidentally develop a narrow picture of what something “therapeutic” is supposed to look like.

A room.

Two chairs.

A conversation.

Fifty minutes.

But community can be therapeutic.

Doodling can be therapeutic.

Playing can be therapeutic.

Shopping can create a meaningful human connection.

Sitting beside someone and saying, We don’t even have to talk. We can just paint, can be an extraordinary form of care.

And service can work the same way.

It doesn’t have to look like what you’ve traditionally pictured when you hear the word volunteering.

You don’t necessarily need a title.

You don’t need to become an expert in somebody else’s pain.

You don’t need to swoop in with the solution.

Sometimes you simply need to notice what you already have available.

There Is a Difference Between Serving and Saving

This distinction matters enormously to me.

Because my own shadow side of caring can look a lot like rescuing.

I can see something painful and immediately want to make it better.

Fix it.

Solve it.

Make the discomfort go away.

And if we’re not careful, helping can quietly become less about what another person actually needs and more about relieving our own discomfort with watching them struggle.

During my conversation with Jalysa, we talked about the importance of approaching communities collaboratively rather than deciding from the outside what people need.

Instead of:

“Let me tell you how I’m going to help.”

Try:

“How can I help?”

Those questions may sound similar.

They’re not.

One assumes.

The other gets curious.

One centers the helper.

The other makes room for the person being helped.

And whether I’m working with therapy clients, speaking to organizations, or having conversations on this podcast, I keep returning to some version of the same idea:

Curiosity changes how we relate.

It moves us out of assumption and toward understanding.

And understanding gives us a much better chance of offering something that’s actually useful.

Sometimes Showing Up Is the Help

This is especially true when someone we love is grieving.

We often become afraid of grief because we don’t know what to say.

What if I make it worse?

What if I bring it up at the wrong time?

What if I haven’t experienced what they’ve experienced?

What could I possibly say that would help?

Jalysa talked about how much of grief support is simply showing up and holding space for someone.

Not solving death.

Not finding the perfect sentence.

Not convincing someone to feel better.

Being there.

Maybe bringing dinner.

Maybe sitting quietly.

Maybe painting.

Maybe taking their child outside to play for half an hour so they can rest.

When we believe helping has to mean fixing, we’re going to feel inadequate in the face of anything we cannot fix.

But when helping means being with, suddenly there are many more ways we can show up.

What If Joy Is Information?

This may be the part I most want you to take with you.

We tend to treat the things that light us up as extras.

The fun stuff.

The frivolous stuff.

The things we’re allowed to enjoy after we’ve handled all the important things.

But what if joy isn’t separate from contribution?

What if it’s information?

Jalysa loves children.

She loves books.

She cares about representation.

So she wrote children’s books that allow more children to see themselves reflected in the possibilities they’re imagining for their lives.

She loves fashion and the joy of helping someone feel beautiful.

That becomes The Gifted Gown.

She discovered an unexpected connection to grief work during her MSW training.

That becomes another place she serves.

There isn’t one single form her contribution has to take.

There’s a thread.

What matters to me?

What makes me feel alive?

What do I have to offer here?

I think sometimes we become so focused on improving ourselves that we miss the information already coming from ourselves.

Your interests are information.

Your energy is information.

Your curiosity is information.

Your capacity is information.

Your joy is information.

None of those things have to dictate your next move.

But they’re worth listening to.

You Are Allowed to Consider Yourself in the Equation

This is where I think the conversation becomes bigger than volunteering.

Because maybe you’re not deciding where to volunteer.

Maybe you’re deciding whether to stay on a committee.

Take another client.

Accept another project.

Continue something you started.

Help another family member.

Say yes to another opportunity.

Or keep doing something that looked right on paper but doesn’t feel right anymore.

Later in our conversation, Jalysa and I talked about things we’d started and then stopped.

And I realized how easily I can interpret:

This isn’t for me right now

as:

There’s something wrong with me because I didn’t follow through.

But those aren’t the same thing.

Sometimes something is simply not for this season.

We get new information by living.

The version of you who said yes six months ago didn’t know everything the version of you today knows.

Changing course isn’t automatically a character flaw.

Sometimes it’s discernment.

And the same principle applies to service.

You are allowed to ask whether the way you’re helping is sustainable for the person doing the helping.

You count, too.

The Heart of This Conversation

There will always be somewhere else you could help.

There will always be another worthy cause.

Another person who needs support.

Another problem deserving attention.

Which means the goal cannot be to finally reach the point where you’ve helped enough people that nobody needs anything else from you.

You’ll never get there.

So perhaps the more hopeful question isn’t:

Where can I help?

Or:

How much can I help?

Perhaps it’s:

Where do I come alive while helping?

Where does what you uniquely have to give meet something you genuinely care about?

Because being of service doesn’t have to mean giving all of yourself away.

And the things that make you light up aren’t frivolous or separate from what you have to offer the world.

They might actually be pointing you toward it.

A Gentle Reflection

If you’ve been feeling overwhelmed by how much needs your attention, don’t begin by asking yourself to do more.

Start smaller.

What do I love doing?

Not what should you love.

Not what would look impressive.

Not what seems sufficiently meaningful.

What makes something inside you perk up a little?

Cooking?

Gardening?

Reading?

Animals?

Children?

Clothes?

Music?

Numbers?

Writing?

Building?

Organizing?

Listening?

Teaching?

Making people laugh?

Start there.

Then ask:

Where might this be useful?

You don’t need an answer today.

Just notice what comes alive when you ask.

Frequently Asked Questions

How can I help others without burning myself out?

Start by considering capacity alongside need. Instead of automatically asking where you’re needed, consider where your interests, skills, energy, and available capacity intersect with something meaningful to you. Sustainable helping doesn’t require you to respond to every need you notice.

Is it selfish to choose volunteer work I actually enjoy?

No. Enjoying the way you contribute doesn’t make the contribution less meaningful. Jalysa’s work with The Gifted Gown is a beautiful example: helping someone access formal wear meets a genuine need while also allowing volunteers to experience joy, play, and connection.

What if I want to help but don’t have much time?

Helping doesn’t have to require a major commitment. Small acts of care, practical support, thoughtful donations, presence, creativity, or sharing something you’re already good at can matter. The goal isn’t necessarily to do the biggest thing available. It’s to notice what is genuinely available for you to give.

How do I know what kind of service is right for me?

Pay attention to what interests you, energizes you, or repeatedly draws your attention. Then look for places where those interests overlap with a real need. As Jalysa says, if one form of service isn’t “your cup of tea,” find something you genuinely like.

Can helping others actually improve my own wellbeing?

Helping can create connection, meaning, joy, and a sense of contribution, especially when the way you help aligns with your capacity and values. The important distinction in this conversation is that service doesn’t have to require self-erasure. Something can support another person and still feel nourishing to you.

One Last Thing…

If you’ve spent a lot of your life being the person who notices what everyone else needs, I don’t want to leave you with another assignment.

I don’t want this essay to become:

Great. One more thing I should be doing.

Instead, maybe the invitation is simply to become curious.

Notice what makes you laugh.

Notice what you could talk about for an hour.

Notice the thing you do for someone else that somehow leaves you with more energy instead of less.

Notice what you keep coming back to.

There is no guarantee that every passion needs to become a purpose.

Some things are allowed to simply be yours.

But every once in a while, something beautiful happens:

Something that lights you up meets something the world needs.

And maybe you don’t have to give yourself away to make a difference.

Maybe you get to bring yourself with you.

Listen to the Conversation

Hear my full conversation with Jalysa King on Don’t Cut Your Own Bangs wherever you listen to podcasts or watch on YouTube.

Jalysa’s work and stories are the inspiration behind this conversation about service, joy, grief, representation, community, and finding ways to contribute that don’t require leaving yourself behind.

Learn More About Jalysa’s Work

When I Grow Up I Can Be Anything
Amazon

The World Needs More People Who Smile
Amazon

Brooke’s Place
Learn more

The Gifted Gown
Learn more

One more thing…

If you’re looking for a speaker to bring conversations about emotional wellbeing, sustainable caring, burnout, boundaries, and healthier ways of supporting others to your organization or conference, I’d love to continue the conversation there.

Learn more about Danielle Ireland’s speaking

👉 If this episode resonates, share it with a friend who might also need this reminder. And don’t forget to subscribe so new episodes find you—no chasing required.

RATE, REVIEW, SUBSCRIBE TO “DON’T CUT YOUR OWN BANGS” 

Like your favorite recipe or song, the best things in life are shared. When you rate, review, and subscribe to this podcast, your engagement helps me connect  with other listeners just like you. Plus, subscriptions just make life easier for everybody. It’s one less thing for you to think about and you can easily keep up to date on everything that’s new. So, please rate, review, and subscribe today. 

DANIELLE IRELAND, LCSW

I greatly appreciate your support and engagement as part of the Don’t Cut Your Own Bangs community. Feel free to reach out with questions, comments, or anything you’d like to share. You can connect with me at any of the links below.

CONNECT WITH DANIELLE

• Follow me on: Instagram
• Check out: The Treasured Journal
• Buy my children’s book: Wrestling a Walrus
• Download: Free Essential Meditations audio series