When Helping Hurts: Lessons From Building, Coaching, and Letting Go
As I cleaned up my Canva creations, I stumbled across so much of myself. Wisdom tucked into graphics. Jewels hidden in unfinished workbooks. Journal pages I left behind. I once created entire coaching materials for clients who wanted to turn their expertise into books.
I paused. Memories surfaced, both good and not so good.
I remembered the team of coaches I once built, the books we wrote together, and how my anthology process was unmatched. Smooth. Organized. Clear. If anyone felt lost, it was never because the system failed; it was because they didn’t read the posts, expected me to do the work for them, or simply didn’t care enough to follow through.
And then the sting hit me: I had given people everything they needed to succeed, and yet some still refused to take hold. Some saw me not as a guide, but as competition.
That season was wild. I worked alongside business owners who claimed they wanted to help others, yet couldn’t create their own content. Many wanted everything handed to them. And I, in my passion to build, made the mistake of thinking my capacity to help should always be given freely. I was wrong.
One of the hardest pills I swallowed was when someone I helped at no charge stole my blueprint and launched the same type of business I had created. They didn’t just take notes; they took my work, my ideas, my system, and ran.
I never spoke of this publicly before. But seeing those files today, I realized it was time to release it.
I had to release them. Every single one. The jealous ones. The silent competitors. The ones who apologized after the damage was done. The ones who thought my light was a threat instead of a resource.
What I learned is this: I cannot help people from my trauma. Just because I didn’t have support doesn’t mean I have to become everyone else’s savior. Just because my family wasn’t a village doesn’t mean I have to sacrifice myself to be one for others. People have to learn to save themselves.
I have a builder’s mindset, and I poured everything I had into people. However, not everyone could handle my light. Some tried to destiny-swap with me, and others tried to destroy me.
That season taught me the most valuable lesson of all: protect your pour.
I cannot pour into empty cups that only take and never refill. I cannot keep lowering my value for people who wouldn’t even consider offering me the same grace. Business owners were some of my most challenging clients, characterized by delayed payments, price haggling, and requests for free work. Meanwhile, no one offered me anything for free.
Yet today, as I reflect, I’m grateful. Because I see how far I’ve come. Coaching may not be my lane anymore, but writing still is. Speaking truth still is. Using my voice, unapologetic and unaltered, still is.
And this time, I’m not pouring blindly. I’m protecting the pour.
Reflection Prompts:
Think of a time when you gave your all to someone or something, and it still wasn’t enough. How did that make you feel?
Have you ever noticed yourself pouring from an empty cup? What was the cost to you mentally, spiritually, or emotionally?
Who in your life truly pours back into you, and who only takes?
What does “protecting your pour” look like in your current season?
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