The other day, I was on a video call with someone who is helping me release some painful experiences from my childhood that have recently resurfaced. Together, we went back to talk to my younger self, to let her know that she was going to be okay…more than okay. I was asked to share what my seven-year-old self was doing, and I told her that I was sitting in the closet in my childhood bedroom, all wrapped up in my Smurfette sleeping bag, eating some of the Halloween candy that I had stashed (that was now months old), and reading a book with my flashlight. (Closets were always my safe haven in every house I lived in as a child – they were a place I could go to journal, to gather my thoughts, and most of all, to feel safe.)
The facilitator asked me to share what I was reading, and I immediately said The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. She was taken aback and asked me why, out of all of the books that I could have chosen to read, did I choose that one. I said that I didn’t know – that it wasn’t something I questioned. It was just the first image that came to mind.
We talked more about it and then moved on to other things. Before we ended the session, though, she asked me to read the book and see how I felt about it now, as an adult. So, as soon as I disconnected from our call, I went online and found a full text version of the book and read it. And I was shocked that it wasn’t how I remembered it at all. In the story, which I’m sure many of you have read, a healthy tree meets a young boy and offers him all she has – shade, apples, leaves, branches, and eventually everything…until all she is left with is a stump. The boy – who grows into an old man throughout the story – doesn’t seem to truly appreciate any of these gifts, yet the tree still gives them to him.
As a child, I remember loving this book. I thought that the tree was so good and giving and honorable. As an adult, I see things very differently. I wish she had taken care of herself – given from her overflow – and allowed her trunk and branches to stay intact. I wish she had seen that by giving and giving and giving and giving some more, she would eventually not be able to give anything at all. Yes, at the end, she gave the man a stump to sit on, which was just what he needed, but it was always about his needs and never about her own. She was giving because it felt good for her to do so, which so many of us can relate to. And yet, if we do this unconsciously – without taking a moment or two to make sure that our own needs are met – we’ll end up with just a stump as well. Our branches and trunk and fruit and shade and beauty will be gone forever.
As a child, I wanted to please everyone, especially my parents. I wanted to make them happy so that I would be loved. I wanted to be the best version of me that I thought they wanted me to be. And I didn’t even think about my own needs. It never even occurred to me to make sure that my proverbial cup was full. I didn’t even know I had that option. I just did what I was told and then tried going above and beyond that to keep the peace and to be praised and receive love.
And this pattern continued into adulthood, and, if I’m being completely honest, it’s something that I still struggle with. I tend to overgive and overdeliver to others at my own expense. And I’ve paid a high price for this. At many points in my life, I have become my own version of a stump. My body would warn me that it needed me to replenish it, that it needed me to slow down, that it needed nourishment, and yet I would still give. Because I wanted to be loved.
But I’m finally realizing how silly – and harmful – this insatiable need for external love and validation truly is. We have to love ourselves first and then give from the overflow. I know this. I’ve known it for years. But, if I’m not conscious of it, I still find myself slipping back into this old pattern of overgiving. And I’m so grateful that this image of seeing my younger self reading this book reminded me in such a visual way that it really is time to stop this. I don’t want to just be a stump for someone to sit on. I want to blossom and bloom and flourish. I want to have flowers and fruit and shade. I want to feel good, and I also want others to feel good. And I know that, unlike the tree in the story, it’s not too late for me. I still can flourish. I still can bloom. But I have to make some changes if that’s going to happen.
So, I’ve decided to bring my younger self new books next time. I’m going to sit beside her in the closet, and together we’re going to read books that are filled with positivity and joy. We’re going to read books that give both of us permission to take care of ourselves and make sure our own needs are met. We’re going to learn together that feeling happy and fulfilled is a good thing. And from that happiness, we’ll be able to care for others. And I’m hoping that, if I’m lucky enough, she’ll be kind enough to let me have one of her candy bars. We’ll see.
Seriously, though, it’s my hope that if you’re living your own version of The Giving Tree that you’ll make sure to give just as much to yourself as you do to others. Let your giving be sustainable. Let it be beneficial to you and to those you give to. Let it be a healthy form of giving. Let it feel good for you, too. Because it matters. You matter. We all matter. And I would love to imagine all of us as flourishing, blossoming, and healthy trees.
Hugs and love,
P.S. There’s just over a week left to sign up to share your story of a soulful message that you received in our next 365 book at the discounted price! You can learn all about it and sign up here: http://www.365soulfulmessages.com. (Thank you so much to each of you who have already joined us. We can’t wait to read your stories!)
