The Silent Burnout
They don’t always say it—but they see you. The one who always says "yes," even while breaking on the inside. The one who rushes to help before the cry even leaves their lips. The one who’s always present, always reachable, always there. That person? That used to be me.
I’m LanceScurv, born and raised in New York City. A loner in many ways, an introvert with the extrovert switch flipped on when it counts. I’ve lived many lives—driving dollar vans (SIR LANCE) through the streets of Southside Queens, working in prisons and jails in Florida, and now, building a quiet strength in the mountains of Ghana, West Africa. I’ve seen people for who they are when they need something, and who they become when they don’t need you anymore. That lesson? It cost me.
From Kindness to Disposability
I learned the hard way that generosity without limits becomes a trap. You give, and give, and give—and instead of gratitude, you’re met with expectation. People don’t value what’s always there. You become part of the background, familiar and easy to ignore. A utility, not a person.
Being good? That’s not the issue. The issue is being good without strategy. Kindness isn’t meant to come with chains around your neck. The world doesn’t reward endless giving—it rewards mystery, scarcity, and control. It took me years to understand that. To realize that being accessible at all times doesn’t make you loved—it makes you invisible.
The Cost of Always Being There
I used to confuse kindness with submission. I thought being useful would bring me closer to people. But the more I gave, the more I faded. I became the helper. The problem-solver. The go-to. Until one day, I wasn’t even me anymore—I was just a role people expected to fill their gaps.
You think you’re giving light, but you’re burning out.
Predictability Kills Respect
Let me say this: people don’t respect what they don’t have to earn. That goes for love, friendship, and especially your time. When they know you’ll always say “yes,” they stop asking if you’re okay. They start assuming you’re fine, even when you’re drowning inside.
You become predictable. Predictable doesn’t excite. Predictable doesn’t inspire desire. It doesn’t command attention. It just… is.
Scarcity is Power
I’ve watched people light up at the name of someone who isn’t there, simply because of their energy. Their measured presence. That’s what leaves an impact—not constant presence, but meaningful absence. Not being everywhere, but being felt when you arrive.
Think about it: how many people in your life have only seen you as what you do for them—not who you are? If you weren’t “the one who helps,” who would you be? That question haunted me.
Not Everyone Deserves Your Light
Here’s the truth—some people will never clap for you unless it benefits them. Some only applaud when it’s easy to get what you offer. And when it’s not easy anymore? They disappear.
Not everyone deserves your energy. Not everyone deserves your light. And when you learn that, everything changes.
The Trap of Unspoken Contracts
Here’s another layer to this mess—we give, hoping for something in return. Not money. But appreciation. Love. Recognition. And when it doesn’t come, we feel betrayed. But here’s the catch—nobody asked you to give. You did it because it’s who you are.
You built an emotional contract that no one signed. That’s what stings the most.
Addicted to Being Needed
If you’re always giving, maybe it’s because being useful is the only way you know how to feel valuable. I’ve been there. I’ve felt the panic when I say “no” and suddenly don’t know who I am without the helper title.
That’s not nobility—that’s fear. A fear of being invisible without a role. A fear of not being needed. But you weren’t born to put out everyone’s fires. You were born to build your own flame.
The Emotional Hustle
Living like that? That’s emotional prostitution. You exist in this unspoken agreement where your worth depends on your performance. You can’t break. You can’t fail. You can’t say “I need help.” Because the moment you do, the people who loved the performance leave the theater.
And worse? You loved the applause. You loved being irreplaceable. But at what cost?
Reclaiming Your Power
Now listen—if you feel invisible, it’s not because they can’t see you. It’s because you’ve been too visible. Too accessible. Too easy.
The first step to rebuilding your value? Withdraw. Don’t announce it. Just fall back. Watch who notices. Watch who misses you. Let the silence speak.
Respect comes from presence with purpose. Not from always being there.
Control the Narrative, Control Your Destiny
Here’s the gem: when you control your presence, you control the narrative. And when you control the narrative, you control your destiny. The ones who are feared, respected, desired—they know when to show up, and when to vanish. That’s not manipulation. That’s protection.
You’re not here to be everyone’s solution. You’re here to be your own foundation. You can’t light the way for others if your own flame is out.
You Were Never Meant to Be Average
You weren’t born to be routine. You weren’t born to be the background. You were born to be unforgettable. But you can’t be unforgettable when you’re always there.
Disappear for a while. Let them miss you. Let them learn what it means to not have your presence. That’s how value is born.
Final Words: A New Beginning
This isn’t about turning cold. This is about choosing you. This is about protecting your fire. Because the most painful betrayal? Is when you betray yourself.
So choose when to show up. Choose who gets access. Choose how you want to be experienced.
You are not common. Stop moving like you are.
From the streets of New York to the mountains of Ghana, I’ve lived a life of giving, of building, of surviving—and now, thriving. Because I learned: you don’t give yourself away. You offer yourself. And only to those who’ve earned it.
Let the world learn what it lost when it had you without effort.
Now that... is true power.
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