Don't Overestimate Your Place: The Bette

Don't Overestimate Your Place: The Better You Are Doesn't Mean You'll Be More Cherished

 

Maggie, the owner of the flower shop downstairs in my neighborhood, had been sighing a lot lately. She had a best friend she'd known for five years, and every time her friend ran into trouble, Maggie was the first to help: when her friend lacked startup funds for her business, Maggie transferred 50,000 dollars without hesitation; when her friend quarreled with her boyfriend, Maggie stayed up late chatting with her until midnight; even when her friend casually mentioned liking a certain brand of perfume, Maggie kept it in mind and gave it as a birthday gift.

 

Maggie always thought that her wholehearted kindness to her friend would make their friendship unbreakable. Until one time, when her mother was hospitalized, she asked her friend to help look after the flower shop for a day. But her friend refused, saying she "had to have dinner with new colleagues." What made her even sadder was that later, she accidentally found out that her friend had helped a person she'd only known for half a year move houses, and even posted a group photo on social media with the caption "My best friend."

 

With red eyes, Maggie said, "I always thought I meant a lot to her—after all, I saw her as my most important friend. But now I realize that my kindness to her might never have made me take up even a little more space in her heart." In fact, Maggie's experience hits a pain point for many of us: we always think "sincerity deserves sincerity, and kindness deserves attention," but reality often teaches us a lesson: the kindness you show others may not be reciprocated with equal care; the "special place" you think you have may just be your own wishful thinking.

 

I once read a story online: a girl named Clara, for the boy she liked—Tom—specially learned to play the basketball he loved, watched dozens of games with him, and even grew out her short hair— which she didn't like—into the long hair he preferred. She thought her efforts would make Tom fall for her, but in the end, Tom said to her, "You're a great person, but I don't feel anything for all this." Clara broke down and asked, "I've changed into the person you like. Why don't you cherish me anyway?" Tom's answer was straightforward: "Your kindness is your own business. What I cherish has never been 'what you've done for me,' but 'whether I'm happy when I'm with you.'"

 

This sentence points out a misunderstanding many people have in relationships: we always treat "being kind to others" as a bargaining chip, thinking that as long as we do enough and are good enough, we can occupy an important place in the other person's heart. But in reality, the core of a relationship has never been "one-sided giving," but "mutual compatibility." It's like if you like apples, but insist on giving a basket of pears to someone who likes bananas. You think you've given your all, but the other person only feels troubled—your "kindness" is not directed in the right way; no matter how much you give, it can't meet the other person's needs, let alone make them cherish you.

 

There are also people who are used to trying to secure their place in others' hearts by "pleasing." Emma, a colleague of mine, was like this. Every time the team had a dinner, she would take the initiative to book the restaurant and buy drinks for everyone; when colleagues asked her to help revise their plans, she would agree first even if she hadn't finished her own work; she never refused even small requests that others mentioned casually, for fear of being excluded if she "wasn't good enough." But what was the result? Her colleagues got used to her giving, not only without gratitude, but also complaining "why are you being so stingy" when she occasionally refused.

 

Emma later realized: the "sense of existence" gained through pleasing is never a real place. The more you lower yourself to cater to others, the less others will take you seriously; the more you use "excessive giving" to prove yourself, the more likely you are to be taken for granted. It's like a vine that has to cling to a big tree to grow, but the big tree won't treat the vine as an indispensable part just because of its entanglement—when the wind blows, the vine may be blown off at any time.

 

In fact, in any relationship, we should understand one truth: your value is never defined by others' "attention," and your place in others' hearts can never be built by "being kind to them." A truly worthwhile relationship doesn't require you to deliberately please or give excessively; people who truly keep you in their hearts will see your kindness, cherish it, and respond with the same kindness.

 

For example, some people will remember your kindness even if you only give them a piece of candy, and bring you your favorite cake when you meet next time; while others will only take it for granted even if you give them the whole world, and may even complain that it's not enough. So, stop overestimating your place in others' hearts, and stop clinging to the idea that "the better I am, the more others will cherish me."

 

Instead of spending time and energy on "pleasing others," it's better to spend more time loving yourself: turn the thoughts you use to cater to others into efforts to improve yourself; turn the emotions you use to wonder "why doesn't he cherish me" into care for people who deserve it. When you no longer deliberately pursue others' approval and no longer overly care about your "place," you will find that: people who are truly suitable for you will take the initiative to approach you; relationships that are truly precious will stay by your side naturally.

 

After all, a good relationship has always been about mutual commitment, not a one-person show. You don't need to be the "best person" in others' eyes—you just need to be the "most comfortable person" in your own heart. People who understand you will cherish you naturally; for those who don't, no amount of effort will help.