Empty Cup
There’s a cliché that says, “You can’t pour from an empty cup.” Lately, I’ve come to understand this in a new way.
Filling your cup is an art, and it looks different for everyone. For me, it’s a mix of alone time, quality moments with loved ones, play, fun, rest, movement and nourishing meals. It also means living more consciously - recognizing when I’m giving someone a heavy pour with no end in sight.
I work with people all day, every day. I spend hours with each client, and beyond the physical service I provide - which already takes energy - I’ve realized how much more I give emotionally. I hear people’s problems, and for a long time, instead of simply listening with compassion, I’d slip into "fix-it mode", offering every piece of advice I could think of. Without realizing it, I’d leave work completely drained, coming home physically limp, unable to cook, clean, or even communicate with my partner. It created a ripple effect into my home life, all because I didn’t recognize how much I was pouring out.
Understanding what drains my cup, and how fast, has helped me control how much I give. And I’ve noticed something: it’s not always the obvious things that deplete me the most. It’s the forced things. Saying yes when I wanted to say no. Participating in conversations that don’t interest me, or letting them drag on out of politeness. These things drain my cup faster than the things I genuinely enjoy.
I’ve been in a place where my cup was empty, still trying to pour every last drop for others. But what I hadn’t fully considered until recently is that other people have empty cups too. And some never figure out how to fill theirs.
That’s been an important realization - understanding that people in my life can’t always be what I want them to be. Not because they don’t care, but because they can’t even meet their own needs, let alone mine. Their cup is empty.
Some people, when they hit that point, realize they need to figure out how to refill it. Some rely on quick fixes that don’t last. And some are so stuck in the fact that their cup is empty, they never take the steps to fill it at all.
I’ve learned that it’s not my job to fix people, or "fill their cup". I can offer support when my own cup allows, but I no longer want to exhaust myself waiting for people to be who I wish they’d be - if they’d only fill their cup. Instead, I want to surround myself with people who already know how to take care of themselves, or at least those who are on the path to learning.
And most of all, I’ve learned that it’s not personal. Someone’s inability to be the friend or family member I needed isn't about me. It is about their own journey, one only they could choose to take.
Filling my cup means understanding what pours into it and what drains it. Who pours into it and who drains it. And making choices accordingly.
