When You Throw the Life Vest and They Swim Away
Every week, I sit down to write.
Not because I have a giant team behind me. Not because I’m chasing likes or brand deals. I write because I’m listening to my clients, my students, and my friends. I write because I care. I write because this field of mental health, wellness, and transformation is full of nuance, trauma, and silent pain, and because so many of us are trying to live better lives without falling apart in the process.
I make it accessible (aka completely free) with no paywall, no funnel, no catch.
But let me be honest for a moment.
Last week, I looked at the analytics for my website. Not even in the double digits. My Substack has 11 subscribers. My Instagram sits at 68 followers. My social content, carefully created to support and extend the blog, often goes unseen. What hurts most isn’t the numbers. It’s that the people who say they want support, who ask for wisdom, who vent about their struggles… often scroll right past it.
They’ll share a meme, repost a bestseller, drop $26 on a hardcover copy of the latest pop psych book by someone with zero credentials in mental health. But they won’t read a free blog post from someone they know, who actually works in the field, teaches in it, and is getting a PhD in it.
Here’s the kicker: I don’t even want to coach my friends. That’s not ethical, and it’s not what I’m offering. What I am offering is guidance, insight, and support in a form that respects their boundaries and mine.
So why does it feel like no one wants it?
Why We Push Away the Help We Say We Want
The truth is, vulnerability hits differently when it’s close to home.
When someone you know shares wisdom, it feels personal. It might hit too close. Maybe there’s fear:
“What if they judge me?”
“What if they talk about me?”
“What if they see too much?”
The risk of being seen is often greater than the risk of being lost.
And that’s the paradox: we cry out for help, but when the life vest comes from someone who knows our story, we reject it. Not because it’s not valuable but because it feels too vulnerable.
The Glamorized Self-Help Machine
Meanwhile, the self-help world keeps growing. But let’s be honest about something else: many of the voices who dominate that space are not experts in healing they’re experts in marketing.
Mel Robbins was a criminal defense attorney turned motivational speaker. Mark Manson has a degree in international relations. Sylvia Browne, who once built an empire off “spiritual readings,” had no formal education. James Clear (whose work I actually love and use) studied biomechanics. Stephen Covey had business and religious education degrees…not clinical psychology.
What do they have in common?
Publishers.
Teams.
Money.
Visibility.
What many of us have?
Lived experience,
deep study,
accreditation
… and no reach.
There Is Too Much Talent Trapped in Poverty
A quote I saw recently said: There is too much talent trapped in poverty. This landed hard. Because I am that quote.
I created my website. I design my posts. I write, edit, upload, and promote completely alone. I am bootstrapping wisdom while others are outsourcing it. I’m not bitter. But I am frustrated because I believe in what I do and I know it works.
I just wish more people would see it.
Maybe that’s the final piece of this post:
If you’ve been feeling lost, struggling to find your footing, asking for help… and you’ve got a friend who’s out here creating resources for free check them out. Read their blog. Share their post. Let them know you see them. Because the real magic doesn’t always come with a marketing team or a book tour.
Sometimes, it comes from the person who’s been quietly listening to you this whole time.
Knowing Where I End: A Note on Boundaries
There’s one more piece I need to speak to because today, I hit a boundary.
I want to be clear: a boundary isn’t about controlling someone else’s behavior. It’s not about demanding support or telling people what they should do. A boundary is about self-respect. It’s about saying, “This is how far I go. This is what I’m able to give right now and no more.”
The truth is, I pour hours into this work. I write blog posts that are researched, cited, edited, and carefully crafted. I publish a weekly Substack to deepen the conversation for those who want to walk a little further with me. I create 19 social media posts every week, each one a small offering meant to connect, support, or uplift. This week, I’ve felt the weight of doing all of that without receiving much back.
So here is my boundary: this week, I’m giving less.
Not out of resentment. Not out of spite. But out of clarity. I’ve reached my edge, and instead of pushing past it in the name of productivity or perceived obligation, I’m honoring it. That’s what a boundary is, a line drawn in self-trust and I hope if you need to draw one too, you know you’re allowed.
Because generosity without boundaries becomes burnout. And connection without reciprocity becomes depletion.
I’m not giving up on this work. But I’m giving myself space to breathe and I invite you to do the same.
