Chapter 14 - I Had to Learn How to Give Without Making Myself Necessary
Therapy became uncomfortable in a way lawsuits never could.
My therapist, Dr. Laura Bennett, asked:
“What do you like about paying?”
I answered:
“I don’t.”
She waited.
Apparently therapists develop professional immunity to:
obvious lies.
Eventually:
“I like removing problems.”
“For whom?”
“People I love.”
“And what does that give you?”
“Peace.”
“Anything else?”
I knew.
“Importance.”
There.
My father died when I was twenty-four.
My mother remarried and moved to Arizona three years later.
We loved one another.
Not especially close.
I built Northstar in the years when most people my age were building:
families.
Work gave me:
identity.
Money later gave me:
capacity.
Ethan gave me:
intimacy.
When his business struggled, paying became one way to preserve:
all three.
I could solve his embarrassment.
Keep our lifestyle stable.
Avoid questions about whether the relationship itself was:
stable.
Money was easier than:
vulnerability.
If Ethan needed me financially, maybe he could not leave emotionally.
I would never have said that aloud during the relationship.
It was still operating underneath.
Then when he left, I kept the card active.
Same logic.
I told myself:
unfinished logistics.
The truth:
unfinished attachment.
So I created new rules.
Not only:
no authorized user.
That would have been superficial.
Instead:
when I give, I define what it is.
Gift.
Loan.
Shared expense.
Charitable contribution.
Temporary support.
No:
whatever you need.
No:
don’t ask.
No:
we made it
when I mean:
I love that you were there.
Words matter.
Especially when money is attached.
I also created a strange personal rule:
Any gift over $10,000 to someone I knew personally required:
twenty-four hours
before sending.
Not because I needed permission.
Because generosity is most honest when it can survive:
tomorrow.
It sounded clinical.
It made my life:
warmer.
I stopped paying to prevent:
disappointment.
If someone became disappointed because I said no, I let them:
be disappointed.
May you like
That skill was worth more than the $108,000 Ethan eventually repaid.
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