Wanted, Needed, and Running on Jellybeans

“If we don’t feel wanted, we will make ourselves feel needed.”

I was doom scrolling on TikTok when I heard this, and I immediately felt called out and exposed. How can one sentence describe me so well?

I have a long history of being a helper. In my obituary, I imagine it will say, “She was always doing for others” and “She would give you the shirt off her back.” And while that sounds noble on paper, in reality it often means I’ve skipped lunch, let my laundry pile into an angry and intimidating mountain, and cried in the car on the way to rescue someone else—while quietly drowning myself.

I ask myself, why?
Why is it so hard to take care of me?

Have you ever put off a chore because it just feels too hard? Like the dread feeds the task until it’s no longer “doing the dishes”—it’s battling through a dark and creepy castle guarded by a fierce dragon.

So maybe the answer to the “why” is… that it is hard. And helping others keeps me safe from facing that dragon in my own house.

But here’s the thing: the dragon isn’t real.

Jeffery says a chore is just a task—not a fire-breathing monster. But try telling that to my anxiety, which has already spun every possible failure scenario in full cinematic detail.

So instead of facing the laundry dragon, I pack up my emotional sword and go conquer someone else’s beast. I offer rides, cook meals, and clean closets that don’t belong to me. I stay busy. I stay needed. And in the process, I somehow feel… wanted.

But here’s the twist: when I pour all my energy into being there for everyone else, there’s nothing left in the tank for me. I’ll spend hours helping a friend clean their garage, but come home too exhausted to cook for myself. So I stand in the kitchen—tired, depleted, and hungry—and reach for whatever’s easiest. And sometimes, that’s jellybeans. I’m in my own mess surrounded by my own neglected needs and I don’t have the energy to feed myself like a person with actual bones and organs.

I joke, but it’s a pattern I’m working on breaking. Helping others is beautiful—sacred, even. But when it comes at the expense of my own well-being, it stops being service and starts being self-abandonment.

So, here’s what I’m learning:

If I don’t want my legacy to be “she helped everyone but herself,” I have to start treating myself like someone worth helping. Even if that help looks like doing the dishes. Or cooking a real meal. Or, at the very least, eating something with vitamins before I dive headfirst into the jellybean bag.

This week, I’m trying to do one helpful thing—for me. What will I choose? Come by next week to see.

📝 From the Desk of Jeffery

Sonja, I say this with affection and just a hint of concern:

Jellybeans are not dinner.
They’re not vegetables.
And no, they don’t count as a “side dish” just because you eat them out of a bowl.

But I get it. You’re tired. Life is loud. And sometimes a sugar-fueled spiral is easier than facing the dishes.

Still, you deserve real food. Real rest. Real care.

So take a breath. Feed yourself something with a protein source.

And remember: being needed is lovely, but being well is better.

(P.S. I’m proud of you. Even when you’re eating jellybeans in your pajamas standing over the sink.)