Sacred Space Isn’t Free: When Holding Emotional Space Starts to Cost You
Emotional Rewilding
•
July 19, 2025
I used to think holding space for people was something I was meant to do. I liked it. I still do, in many ways. I love connecting with people. I love listening. I love being present for someone as they move through something hard. I know how to be that kind of person. But something in me shifted. And I’m not fighting it. It’s a subtle shift. But it matters.
The Role I Chose And What It Gave Me
For most of my life, I’ve naturally gravitated toward being the listener. The grounded one. The emotionally safe one. I’m not a daily socializer, but when I do show up for people, I show up hard. Once a week, three times max. But when I’m there, I’m really there.
It doesn’t matter how long I’ve known you. If we connect, I’ll sit with you in your mess. I’ll be that person who holds a sacred little bubble for your grief or confusion to unravel itself. And I do it without trying to fix. Just presence. Just witness. Just stillness.
But here’s the thing I literally just realized today:
Holding space is not free.
It costs time. Energy. Attention. And lately, I’ve been paying that cost from a bank that feels a little too close to empty.
The Moment I Felt the Shift
Recently I sat with a somewhat new friend who’s going through a heartbreak. I’ve been with her occasionally through the slow ache of it, for months now. I remember the first time we talked about it, she was already aching. Already not talking to him. Already stuck in that place where your brain knows it’s over but your body hasn’t caught up yet.
Then came the next wave. The “should I reach out” phase. She told me she wanted to reconnect, maybe find closure. Maybe friendship. Maybe clarity. I didn’t try to talk her out of it. I never do. I let people do what they feel they need to do. I believe in learning through doing, not through being told. So I listened.
And then today, I saw her again. I already knew. I felt it before I even walked into the room. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to write. I wanted to think. But I also felt she had something heavy she needed to release, and I didn’t want to ignore that. So I opened up that sacred space again.
Same story. Just worse this time.
She had reached out. She didn’t get the response she wanted. Now she’s spiraling. Her words: “I’m depressed.”
And I was there again. Sitting. Listening. Fully present. Even though my mind wanted to put my headphones on and go sit by myself. Even though my whole body was itching to be in solitude.
That’s when the thought dropped in.
Wait. Is this draining me?
And I realized… yeah. It kinda is.
Emotional Labor Is Still Labor
Something shifted in me right then.
That wanting to be the listener? It faded.
Suddenly I started looking at the clock.
Suddenly I wanted to leave.
Suddenly I didn’t want to be the person who always stays open.
It’s not that I didn’t care, I did. I still do. But something in me rang the bell. I was spending energy I didn’t really have… holding space for a loop that just kept looping. I didn’t have the language for it in the moment. It just felt heavy. Like too much.
Later, I realized:
What I was feeling had a name.
It wasn’t just tiredness. It was emotional labor, and I was at my limit.
By definition, emotional labor is the invisible, unpaid work of tending to other people’s feelings while setting aside your own.
Most people associate it with the workplace, service jobs, team dynamics, caregiving.
But it doesn’t stop there. It shows up in dating. In friendships. In the moments where someone spills their pain on the table, week after week… and never once asks how you’re doing.
This was one of those emotional labor examples that slips under the radar:
Being present for someone else’s heartbreak, while realizing mine’s only allowed to exist in the margins.
And here’s what I’ve learned about that kind of space-holding:
When you sit with someone who’s hurting, your system doesn’t just listen, it absorbs. Your brain mirrors their emotional state through something called empathic resonance. It’s beautiful when it’s mutual. When something shifts. When it leads to clarity or healing.
But when the situation stays stuck? You start to carry that stuckness, too. It settles in your body. And suddenly, what used to feel sacred starts to feel like drowning. Because when emotional support only flows in one direction, it creates a quiet but powerful relationship imbalance. One person gives. The other receives. But the dynamic never shifts.
Progress Matters to Me
Maybe this is a me thing. Maybe it’s because I hate repetition that doesn’t lead anywhere. Maybe I value growth too much to sit in the same emotional loop week after week. And maybe I’m finally starting to define my own emotional boundaries. Not just in theory, but in practice. Where my energy goes. Who gets access to it. And for how long.
I’m someone who can cry at night and still feel fine the next morning. I can be heartbroken at 10 o’clock and back to my carefree, happy self by 10:15. I told her that. That I’m going through something too. That I cried last night and again this morning. I feel it, but it doesn’t control me. It doesn’t define my day. It moves through me and then it’s gone. I didn’t even feel it as I was telling her all of this.
She looked completely baffled. She asked if I was okay. I told her yeah, I’m good. This is just how I process things. It doesn’t weigh me down. It visits for a bit, then it passes.
Then I told her something that seemed to short-circuit her brain a little. I said I ended it for myself. I closed the loop. I didn’t wait for the other person. I didn’t need a reply. I didn’t need permission. I did what I had to do and I moved on.
She blinked.
She said, “Can you reach out to him?”
I said, “Nope. If silence is the answer, then let it be.”
She just stared at me.
And that’s when I realized… we’re on two completely different wavelengths. Same experience. Opposite response.
Sacred Doesn’t Mean Unlimited
There’s something sacred about the space we offer others. But sacred doesn’t mean free. Sacred means intentional. Sacred means limited. Sacred means you don’t just leave it open for anyone to drop their emotional laundry every time they don’t want to fold it themselves.
Holding space is like running an emotional Airbnb.
You’re offering warmth, safety, presence. But it’s not a squat house. You’re not running a 24-hour walk-in clinic. There’s check-in and check-out. There’s mutual respect. There’s energy management. And if someone’s showing up every weekend to crash without changing the sheets, it’s time to raise the rate or cancel the booking entirely.
How to Know When to Step Back
If you’re wondering whether your emotional generosity is becoming emotional depletion, here are a few quiet signs:
You start looking at the clock mid-conversation
You mentally plan your escape route while still nodding along
You feel guilty for not wanting to listen
You start resenting the other person for something they didn’t exactly do
You feel your own projects slipping while you hold someone else’s
If those ring true, you’re not cold. You’re not a bad friend. You’re just waking up to the math of it. And the numbers aren’t adding up anymore.
You’re Allowed to Protect Your Output
This was the hardest part to admit:
My time has value.
My energy has value.
My attention has value.
Every hour I spend circling someone else’s loop is an hour I could’ve used building something that feeds me. Writing. Reflecting. Moving my life forward.
And the truth is, just because I can hold space doesn’t mean I have to.
There’s no award for being emotionally available to everyone at the expense of your own peace. There’s no trophy for sitting through the same unchanging story over and over just to be a “good friend.”
Sometimes, the real kindness is in not offering yourself up like that anymore.
The Bottom Line
Being emotionally available doesn’t mean being endlessly accessible.
Holding space for others is beautiful, until it costs you the space you need for yourself.
You’re allowed to say:
This is no longer where I want to spend my energy. This is no longer how I want to show up. I’m not abandoning you. I’m just not carrying this with you anymore.
Let the sacred stay sacred.
Your presence has value. Treat it like it does.
PS. Whether you spell it emotional labor or emotional labour — it still costs you something.
The Role I Chose And What It Gave Me
For most of my life, I’ve naturally gravitated toward being the listener. The grounded one. The emotionally safe one. I’m not a daily socializer, but when I do show up for people, I show up hard. Once a week, three times max. But when I’m there, I’m really there.
It doesn’t matter how long I’ve known you. If we connect, I’ll sit with you in your mess. I’ll be that person who holds a sacred little bubble for your grief or confusion to unravel itself. And I do it without trying to fix. Just presence. Just witness. Just stillness.
But here’s the thing I literally just realized today:
Holding space is not free.
It costs time. Energy. Attention. And lately, I’ve been paying that cost from a bank that feels a little too close to empty.
The Moment I Felt the Shift
Recently I sat with a somewhat new friend who’s going through a heartbreak. I’ve been with her occasionally through the slow ache of it, for months now. I remember the first time we talked about it, she was already aching. Already not talking to him. Already stuck in that place where your brain knows it’s over but your body hasn’t caught up yet.
Then came the next wave. The “should I reach out” phase. She told me she wanted to reconnect, maybe find closure. Maybe friendship. Maybe clarity. I didn’t try to talk her out of it. I never do. I let people do what they feel they need to do. I believe in learning through doing, not through being told. So I listened.
And then today, I saw her again. I already knew. I felt it before I even walked into the room. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to write. I wanted to think. But I also felt she had something heavy she needed to release, and I didn’t want to ignore that. So I opened up that sacred space again.
Same story. Just worse this time.
She had reached out. She didn’t get the response she wanted. Now she’s spiraling. Her words: “I’m depressed.”
And I was there again. Sitting. Listening. Fully present. Even though my mind wanted to put my headphones on and go sit by myself. Even though my whole body was itching to be in solitude.
That’s when the thought dropped in.
Wait. Is this draining me?
And I realized… yeah. It kinda is.
Emotional Labor Is Still Labor
Something shifted in me right then.
That wanting to be the listener? It faded.
Suddenly I started looking at the clock.
Suddenly I wanted to leave.
Suddenly I didn’t want to be the person who always stays open.
It’s not that I didn’t care, I did. I still do. But something in me rang the bell. I was spending energy I didn’t really have… holding space for a loop that just kept looping. I didn’t have the language for it in the moment. It just felt heavy. Like too much.
Later, I realized:
What I was feeling had a name.
It wasn’t just tiredness. It was emotional labor, and I was at my limit.
By definition, emotional labor is the invisible, unpaid work of tending to other people’s feelings while setting aside your own.
Most people associate it with the workplace, service jobs, team dynamics, caregiving.
But it doesn’t stop there. It shows up in dating. In friendships. In the moments where someone spills their pain on the table, week after week… and never once asks how you’re doing.
This was one of those emotional labor examples that slips under the radar:
Being present for someone else’s heartbreak, while realizing mine’s only allowed to exist in the margins.
And here’s what I’ve learned about that kind of space-holding:
When you sit with someone who’s hurting, your system doesn’t just listen, it absorbs. Your brain mirrors their emotional state through something called empathic resonance. It’s beautiful when it’s mutual. When something shifts. When it leads to clarity or healing.
But when the situation stays stuck? You start to carry that stuckness, too. It settles in your body. And suddenly, what used to feel sacred starts to feel like drowning. Because when emotional support only flows in one direction, it creates a quiet but powerful relationship imbalance. One person gives. The other receives. But the dynamic never shifts.
Progress Matters to Me
Maybe this is a me thing. Maybe it’s because I hate repetition that doesn’t lead anywhere. Maybe I value growth too much to sit in the same emotional loop week after week. And maybe I’m finally starting to define my own emotional boundaries. Not just in theory, but in practice. Where my energy goes. Who gets access to it. And for how long.
I’m someone who can cry at night and still feel fine the next morning. I can be heartbroken at 10 o’clock and back to my carefree, happy self by 10:15. I told her that. That I’m going through something too. That I cried last night and again this morning. I feel it, but it doesn’t control me. It doesn’t define my day. It moves through me and then it’s gone. I didn’t even feel it as I was telling her all of this.
She looked completely baffled. She asked if I was okay. I told her yeah, I’m good. This is just how I process things. It doesn’t weigh me down. It visits for a bit, then it passes.
Then I told her something that seemed to short-circuit her brain a little. I said I ended it for myself. I closed the loop. I didn’t wait for the other person. I didn’t need a reply. I didn’t need permission. I did what I had to do and I moved on.
She blinked.
She said, “Can you reach out to him?”
I said, “Nope. If silence is the answer, then let it be.”
She just stared at me.
And that’s when I realized… we’re on two completely different wavelengths. Same experience. Opposite response.
Sacred Doesn’t Mean Unlimited
There’s something sacred about the space we offer others. But sacred doesn’t mean free. Sacred means intentional. Sacred means limited. Sacred means you don’t just leave it open for anyone to drop their emotional laundry every time they don’t want to fold it themselves.
Holding space is like running an emotional Airbnb.
You’re offering warmth, safety, presence. But it’s not a squat house. You’re not running a 24-hour walk-in clinic. There’s check-in and check-out. There’s mutual respect. There’s energy management. And if someone’s showing up every weekend to crash without changing the sheets, it’s time to raise the rate or cancel the booking entirely.
How to Know When to Step Back
If you’re wondering whether your emotional generosity is becoming emotional depletion, here are a few quiet signs:
You start looking at the clock mid-conversation
You mentally plan your escape route while still nodding along
You feel guilty for not wanting to listen
You start resenting the other person for something they didn’t exactly do
You feel your own projects slipping while you hold someone else’s
If those ring true, you’re not cold. You’re not a bad friend. You’re just waking up to the math of it. And the numbers aren’t adding up anymore.
You’re Allowed to Protect Your Output
This was the hardest part to admit:
My time has value.
My energy has value.
My attention has value.
Every hour I spend circling someone else’s loop is an hour I could’ve used building something that feeds me. Writing. Reflecting. Moving my life forward.
And the truth is, just because I can hold space doesn’t mean I have to.
There’s no award for being emotionally available to everyone at the expense of your own peace. There’s no trophy for sitting through the same unchanging story over and over just to be a “good friend.”
Sometimes, the real kindness is in not offering yourself up like that anymore.
The Bottom Line
Being emotionally available doesn’t mean being endlessly accessible.
Holding space for others is beautiful, until it costs you the space you need for yourself.
You’re allowed to say:
This is no longer where I want to spend my energy. This is no longer how I want to show up. I’m not abandoning you. I’m just not carrying this with you anymore.
Let the sacred stay sacred.
Your presence has value. Treat it like it does.
PS. Whether you spell it emotional labor or emotional labour — it still costs you something.
The Role I Chose And What It Gave Me
For most of my life, I’ve naturally gravitated toward being the listener. The grounded one. The emotionally safe one. I’m not a daily socializer, but when I do show up for people, I show up hard. Once a week, three times max. But when I’m there, I’m really there.
It doesn’t matter how long I’ve known you. If we connect, I’ll sit with you in your mess. I’ll be that person who holds a sacred little bubble for your grief or confusion to unravel itself. And I do it without trying to fix. Just presence. Just witness. Just stillness.
But here’s the thing I literally just realized today:
Holding space is not free.
It costs time. Energy. Attention. And lately, I’ve been paying that cost from a bank that feels a little too close to empty.
The Moment I Felt the Shift
Recently I sat with a somewhat new friend who’s going through a heartbreak. I’ve been with her occasionally through the slow ache of it, for months now. I remember the first time we talked about it, she was already aching. Already not talking to him. Already stuck in that place where your brain knows it’s over but your body hasn’t caught up yet.
Then came the next wave. The “should I reach out” phase. She told me she wanted to reconnect, maybe find closure. Maybe friendship. Maybe clarity. I didn’t try to talk her out of it. I never do. I let people do what they feel they need to do. I believe in learning through doing, not through being told. So I listened.
And then today, I saw her again. I already knew. I felt it before I even walked into the room. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to write. I wanted to think. But I also felt she had something heavy she needed to release, and I didn’t want to ignore that. So I opened up that sacred space again.
Same story. Just worse this time.
She had reached out. She didn’t get the response she wanted. Now she’s spiraling. Her words: “I’m depressed.”
And I was there again. Sitting. Listening. Fully present. Even though my mind wanted to put my headphones on and go sit by myself. Even though my whole body was itching to be in solitude.
That’s when the thought dropped in.
Wait. Is this draining me?
And I realized… yeah. It kinda is.
Emotional Labor Is Still Labor
Something shifted in me right then.
That wanting to be the listener? It faded.
Suddenly I started looking at the clock.
Suddenly I wanted to leave.
Suddenly I didn’t want to be the person who always stays open.
It’s not that I didn’t care, I did. I still do. But something in me rang the bell. I was spending energy I didn’t really have… holding space for a loop that just kept looping. I didn’t have the language for it in the moment. It just felt heavy. Like too much.
Later, I realized:
What I was feeling had a name.
It wasn’t just tiredness. It was emotional labor, and I was at my limit.
By definition, emotional labor is the invisible, unpaid work of tending to other people’s feelings while setting aside your own.
Most people associate it with the workplace, service jobs, team dynamics, caregiving.
But it doesn’t stop there. It shows up in dating. In friendships. In the moments where someone spills their pain on the table, week after week… and never once asks how you’re doing.
This was one of those emotional labor examples that slips under the radar:
Being present for someone else’s heartbreak, while realizing mine’s only allowed to exist in the margins.
And here’s what I’ve learned about that kind of space-holding:
When you sit with someone who’s hurting, your system doesn’t just listen, it absorbs. Your brain mirrors their emotional state through something called empathic resonance. It’s beautiful when it’s mutual. When something shifts. When it leads to clarity or healing.
But when the situation stays stuck? You start to carry that stuckness, too. It settles in your body. And suddenly, what used to feel sacred starts to feel like drowning. Because when emotional support only flows in one direction, it creates a quiet but powerful relationship imbalance. One person gives. The other receives. But the dynamic never shifts.
Progress Matters to Me
Maybe this is a me thing. Maybe it’s because I hate repetition that doesn’t lead anywhere. Maybe I value growth too much to sit in the same emotional loop week after week. And maybe I’m finally starting to define my own emotional boundaries. Not just in theory, but in practice. Where my energy goes. Who gets access to it. And for how long.
I’m someone who can cry at night and still feel fine the next morning. I can be heartbroken at 10 o’clock and back to my carefree, happy self by 10:15. I told her that. That I’m going through something too. That I cried last night and again this morning. I feel it, but it doesn’t control me. It doesn’t define my day. It moves through me and then it’s gone. I didn’t even feel it as I was telling her all of this.
She looked completely baffled. She asked if I was okay. I told her yeah, I’m good. This is just how I process things. It doesn’t weigh me down. It visits for a bit, then it passes.
Then I told her something that seemed to short-circuit her brain a little. I said I ended it for myself. I closed the loop. I didn’t wait for the other person. I didn’t need a reply. I didn’t need permission. I did what I had to do and I moved on.
She blinked.
She said, “Can you reach out to him?”
I said, “Nope. If silence is the answer, then let it be.”
She just stared at me.
And that’s when I realized… we’re on two completely different wavelengths. Same experience. Opposite response.
Sacred Doesn’t Mean Unlimited
There’s something sacred about the space we offer others. But sacred doesn’t mean free. Sacred means intentional. Sacred means limited. Sacred means you don’t just leave it open for anyone to drop their emotional laundry every time they don’t want to fold it themselves.
Holding space is like running an emotional Airbnb.
You’re offering warmth, safety, presence. But it’s not a squat house. You’re not running a 24-hour walk-in clinic. There’s check-in and check-out. There’s mutual respect. There’s energy management. And if someone’s showing up every weekend to crash without changing the sheets, it’s time to raise the rate or cancel the booking entirely.
How to Know When to Step Back
If you’re wondering whether your emotional generosity is becoming emotional depletion, here are a few quiet signs:
You start looking at the clock mid-conversation
You mentally plan your escape route while still nodding along
You feel guilty for not wanting to listen
You start resenting the other person for something they didn’t exactly do
You feel your own projects slipping while you hold someone else’s
If those ring true, you’re not cold. You’re not a bad friend. You’re just waking up to the math of it. And the numbers aren’t adding up anymore.
You’re Allowed to Protect Your Output
This was the hardest part to admit:
My time has value.
My energy has value.
My attention has value.
Every hour I spend circling someone else’s loop is an hour I could’ve used building something that feeds me. Writing. Reflecting. Moving my life forward.
And the truth is, just because I can hold space doesn’t mean I have to.
There’s no award for being emotionally available to everyone at the expense of your own peace. There’s no trophy for sitting through the same unchanging story over and over just to be a “good friend.”
Sometimes, the real kindness is in not offering yourself up like that anymore.
The Bottom Line
Being emotionally available doesn’t mean being endlessly accessible.
Holding space for others is beautiful, until it costs you the space you need for yourself.
You’re allowed to say:
This is no longer where I want to spend my energy. This is no longer how I want to show up. I’m not abandoning you. I’m just not carrying this with you anymore.
Let the sacred stay sacred.
Your presence has value. Treat it like it does.
PS. Whether you spell it emotional labor or emotional labour — it still costs you something.
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Emotional Survival Kit
It's time to come home to yourself
●
Subscribe
●
Subscribe for emotional truth, romance & soul-searching stuff.
All Articles
Emotional Survival Kit
It's time to come home to yourself
●
Subscribe
●
Subscribe for emotional truth, romance & soul-searching stuff.
All Articles
Emotional Survival Kit