Lesson 6 of 30: Empathy without Boundaries is Self-Betrayal

There was a time I mistook empathy for obligation. I believed that if I could feel someone’s pain, I was responsible for easing it. Somewhere in the folds of childhood, I picked up the silent message that said, if you really love them, you won’t let them drown. So I made myself a life raft for everyone around me. The major problem with this is that I was already sinking.

The desire to save others didn’t begin in adulthood. It began the moment I realized no one was coming to save me. I was a little girl with grown-up emotions, watching the people I depended on unravel before me. The ones who were supposed to nurture me came to me needing to be nurtured. And so, with my small hands and big heart, I tried to patch the holes in their stories with my presence, with my obedience, with my silence.

It wasn’t just compassion, it was a wound. A mother wound. A soul-deep ache to be held, protected, seen. But instead of receiving that, I learned to mother others before I ever learned to mother myself. I confused empathy with enmeshment, care with codependency, and love with self-abandonment. I was praised for being mature, responsible, and strong. But in truth, I was barely surviving in plain sight. I was trying to earn love by absorbing the pain of others and trying to prove my worth by being someone’s answer. Does this sound familiar to you ?

“Who did you want to save you?” That question stirs something raw in me because I know the answer too well. I wanted my mother, the one who bore me and the one who raised me, to see me not as their comfort or solution, but as a daughter. A child. Someone worthy of being cared for, not someone who had to carry the emotional weight of a family. Not that they ever verbally asked; their words said not to, but their soul cried for help. Soul cry. And when I couldn’t fix their brokenness, I internalized the failure. I thought I wasn’t enough.

Let me be clear, my mothers are beautiful, strong women. They are warriors who have survived more than I’ll ever know, despite the times they dropped me, they tried their best with what they had and where they were mentally, and I am grateful. I honor them with my whole heart. But, I had to learn to step out of God’s way so He could be their Savior. I finally accept that I never could be. I had to stop trying to rescue them so I could finally receive them as they are: human, healing, and deeply loved by the same God who is healing me.

The same truth applied to my relationships. I realized I had often stepped into a role God never assigned me. I often became "a mother" to those I cared about, caring for them rather than about them. Either a friendship or a romantic relationship. Not in nurturing alone, but in trying to fix, manage, guide, and heal. God made it clear to me: I do have a mothering gift. He designed it. He purposed it. But He also had to teach me how to steward it well. How I operated before wasn't good stewardship, as His child, He taught me. The gift wasn’t the problem -- my boundaries were. I had to stop using my gift to control outcomes and allow Him to lead it with wisdom, discernment, and trust.

Scripture reminds us of the sacred tension we often overlook.

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

Galatians 6:2

But just two verses later, it says:

But let each one examine his own work, and then he will have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another. For each one shall bear his own load

Galatians 6:4-5

We are called to love and support, not become the Savior. That role was never ours to fill.

I’ve come to understand that the part of me that wanted to save others was the part still crying out to be saved. The rescuer in me was just a child in disguise, hoping someone would finally come through, finally choose her, finally offer her the love she tried to give away. Until that place in us is healed by the love of God, we’ll keep bleeding empathy in places that require boundaries. We’ll keep pouring from emptiness, confusing our need for connection with our need to be needed.

Boundaries are not a lack of love. They are the evidence of it. They say, “I care, but I will not collapse. I love you, but I won’t lose myself.” Even Jesus, in all His compassion, set boundaries. He withdrew from the crowds, said no to some requests, and didn’t heal everyone. The Savior Himself did not save where there was no surrender. He ministered within divine limits, led by the Spirit. Not guilt, not fear, and certainly not codependency.

The more I heal my mother wound, the less I feel the need to rescue. I’ve realized that I needed saving, too. And I was. By the One who sees the rescuer in me and still chooses to rescue me first. When we are healed, we begin to serve from a place of strength rather than survival. We begin to love from fullness, not desperation. We learn to be present without losing ourselves in someone else’s process. We stop mistaking their healing for our responsibility.

IN CONCLUSION

For my 30s, join me as I choose to honor the compassion in me, but no longer at the cost of myself. I still love deeply, but I’m no longer drained. I still show up, but I do it with boundaries. I’ve stopped clinging to brokenness in the name of loyalty and started choosing peace in the name of healing. I know now that I can’t be everything to everyone and was never meant to be. I’ve found safety, identity, and wholeness in Christ. That’s where my help comes from. That is where it always will.

Now that you know, let’s grow,

– Kimrose🌹