From the outside it looks generous. From the inside it’s closer to vigilance.
From the outside it looks generous — attentive, accommodating, reliably willing — and it’s often mistaken for kindness, including by the person doing it. From the inside it’s closer to vigilance: a constant reading of what others need, what will keep them comfortable, so fast and so early that you reach for the room’s mood before you’ve noticed your own.
The cost is that you go quietly missing from your own life.
The cost is that you go quietly missing from your own life. Decisions get made by reference to everyone else; your own preferences become hard to locate, because for a long time it was safer not to have them. Underneath the accommodation there’s a tiredness that’s hard to point at, and sometimes a resentment that feels shameful — because you can’t quite see what you’d be allowed to want instead.
Few people arrive recognising all of these. Most know one or two, and find the rest underneath as the work goes on.
