3 min read

The Art of Giving

To be skilled at giving, we have to know when to give less.
The Art of Giving
Photo by Lina Trochez / Unsplash

I was sitting in a discussion group recently. The topic was “giving”. What does it mean to give? When is it okay to give? How does giving impact us and the people we give to? And so on.

This day, something told me to practice listening. Observe.

I heard stories of shoveling driveways for grumpy elderly people and giving rides to strangers. They spoke happily about how giving can make the giver feel good, not just the receiver. They illuminated that when someone is receptive to your generosity, it’s not a charity. The exchange has a reciprocal effect. The same hand that receives also gives the giver something warm to remember about themselves and that moment, or at least alleviate a stress for the giver. Like letting your mom send you money for her sake so she can worry less, not yours (you don’t need it).

It was a beautiful discussion and I couldn’t help but notice another theme that emerged along the same thread:

When the intended recipient doesn’t receive the gift, the giver doesn’t feel good. The giver struggles with the rejection.

Why won’t they receive my gift of support? I can tell they really need it? Was I rude in how I offered? What’s the right/wrong way to offer help?

I kept observing a room full of well-meaning people with the best of intentions struggle to give someone the gift of ”nothing”.  Not realizing that a skilled giver knows “nothing” can sometimes be the best gift of all.

Mind you, I only remembered this lesson because I got reminded of it a few days prior. I’m learning it for the umpteenth time now. You know how it goes.

I thought of my partner. We bicker about who gets to do the dishes or clean the kitchen or pay for the meal because we want the other to rest and be treated. 

Years ago I would’ve thought of this as a “silly” problem to have—and a part of me still does believe that. But I’d be lying if I didn’t also admit that this is teaching me something meaningful at a deeper level than I learned it before.

When I give too much, or when she doesn’t want it, it’s not a gift. It’s a point of frustration and stress. Even if it appears she “needs” it and is just saying no out of pride, who am I to determine that? The same is true in reverse. It doesn’t feel like a gift when she pushes me to receive a kind of support I don’t want.

We routinely experience the struggle brought up in group, and this experience has forced me to get honest. To realize that who I’m really trying to give something to in those moments, is myself.

For whatever the reason—I really value making a contribution. To my relationship. To my house. To a group project. My community. The world. I want to pitch in. And so does she. And this value in and of itself is noble and normal.

It’s also often mismanaged.

A few days before group she’d had a really overwhelming week at work. Mine was pretty smooth in comparison. Clearly, the logical thing for me to do is pitch in extra around the house during that time, clearing the path so she can focus. She defaults to doing the same for me.

This is the exact thing we bicker about.

I enter the kitchen one morning in this default mode and get to work. Brew the coffee. Feed the dogs. Empty the dishwasher from the night before. And as I start to reach for some fresh dirty dishes to put in the dishwasher—I catch myself. 

She’s going to want to pitch in.

I leave the dishes. 

Just like they pointed out in group, this was uncomfortable. But I knew she’d come downstairs and sweetly remind me I don’t have to do everything and she likes to contribute anyway. She prefers I let her have those struggles even though it bothers me to feel like I’m a bystander when I can help.

When she came down, visibly stressed as I anticipated, I awkwardly communicated the update & hand-off.

“Coffee’s ready, dogs are fed, I emptied the dishwasher but I uh left some dishes in the sink in case you wanted something to do.” 

You would’ve thought I just surprised her with flowers. And in taking in her reaction I realized the gift I wasn’t giving her before, on this topic, was the gift of feeling seen. And I finally gave her that gift not because of what I did, but what I didn’t do.

We have a tendency to think of giving as adding something to someone’s life and because of that we associate it with doing more. We forget certain invisible additions that often call us to do less.

Have they felt seen today? Have they felt known and accepted and heard today? Because these are gifts. And the way we really give and receive them is often enough contradictory to how we were told.

A lot of the time, it’s about knowing when to do less.

Rooting for You, 

Tori