When care stops being mutual and starts being currency

Some of my fondest memories aren’t grand occasions — they’re small, ordinary moments.
A friend showing up unasked when my voice sounded tired on the phone.
A sibling quietly fixing something in the house without making it a big gesture.
An aunt slipping my favourite snack into my bag “just in case.”

Those moments felt effortless. No keeping score, no conditions. Just the quiet truth of I care about you, so I’m here.

But I’ve also lived through the slow change that can creep into such bonds.
When messages start coming only when something is needed.
When affection feels like the prelude to a request.
When your availability is expected, but your absence is barely noticed.

It’s not the gaps that hurt — life is busy for everyone.
It’s the dawning awareness that love, once a safe place, has been turned into a quiet negotiation. That your care is no longer received as a gift, but as a resource to be tapped when convenient.

Modern life dresses this up in tidy phrases: just being practical, helping each other out, networking. And in the professional world, maybe that works. But in personal bonds, it chips away at trust far more deeply than arguments ever could.

The trouble is, speaking about it risks being called “too sensitive” or “difficult.” Because naming it disrupts an arrangement that’s working perfectly — for them.

So I’ve learned my way through it and offer it for your reflection:
To notice when love turns into leverage.
To give without bitterness, but not without limits.
To guard my best energy for those who return it freely.

Love, in its truest form, is not a transaction.
It does not measure, bargain, or withhold.
It’s a sanctuary — and sanctuaries are worth protecting.

If that makes me “difficult,” then so be it.
I’d rather be difficult and whole than easy and hollowed out.

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Letters for the Inner Journey by Pushkar

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