Call me crazy, but when I say I’ll do something for you—I mean it. No footnotes, no conditions, no “what’s in it for me?” clauses. I show up. I give my all. And I don’t expect confetti or fanfare in return. (Okay, maybe just a decent coffee and the occasional “thank you” wouldn’t hurt.)

But you know what hurts?

It’s when you give 100%—and still feel like you’re the only one who did.

I’m not talking about little disappointments. I’m talking about the gut-punch moments. The ones that leave you staring at your ceiling at 2 a.m., asking yourself why your all still wasn’t enough. The ones where you realize: “Wait… who’s got my back?”

I’ve been there. More than once. I’ve poured my time, money, energy, and heart into things—into people—thinking it was safe to do so. Thinking I was protected. Spoiler alert: I wasn’t.

And man, that betrayal stings. Especially when you thought your loyalty would be met with, well, loyalty.

In people’s eyes, I might be “too much.” Or “too emotional.” Some may even call me naive. They’ll say things behind my back, throw shade, twist the story. And you know what? That’s fine. Let them. I don’t care anymore—not in the way I used to.

Because here’s my truth: I know who I am. I know what I gave. And I know why I gave it.

Everybody thinks they’re the good guy. We all have our justifications, our boundaries, our “48 Laws of Power” on standby. Psychology tells you to detach. Self-help books tell you to protect your peace. But sometimes—sometimes—you just have to go with what your gut tells you. Even if it doesn’t look strategic. Even if it doesn’t follow the playbook.

This is me. This is my formula. I give. Fully, foolishly, faithfully. Because I know the world is heavy. There’s war. Poverty. Sickness. And if I can be a tiny light in someone’s day—even if it costs me—I’ll do it.

Does that mean it’s okay to be used? No.
Does that mean I enjoy being taken for granted? Of course not.

But I’m not going to stop being me just because someone else didn’t value me.

You know that poem, The Prince? It says, “You don’t stop loving because one person hurt you. You don’t stop giving because one person took too much.”

That line lives rent-free in my head. Because that’s it. That’s the truth. You continue loving. You continue giving. You continue being exactly who you are—because you chose that. Not because the world clapped for you, or because you’re always safe from pain. But because that’s who you are.

And yes, maybe one day I’ll stop. Maybe one day I won’t be able to give my 100% anymore. But until that day comes, I’ll keep showing up. Broken sometimes, tired often—but still showing up.

And maybe that’s not powerful in the traditional sense. But at 43? That feels like real power to me.

So call me crazy. But I’d rather be crazy with a kind heart than cold with a perfect strategy.