“Welcome!”
“The table is open.”
Anyone can sit.
There was always space.
Always an extra plate, an extra portion, an extra seat I was willing to make room for.
I didn’t think twice about it.
Care, to me, was something you gave freely.
Something you offered without measuring.
Without asking who deserved it.
But somewhere along the way, I started noticing something.
Not everyone who sits at your table
knows how to honor it.
Some people will sit.
And when they’re full, they treat you like background noise.
Some people don’t even say “thank you.”
Some people just forget.
Some people snap when you don’t give them what they want.
Some people even go as far as disrespecting you because it was inconvenient for them.
Lately, people are showing me who they really are.
Lately, I’m seeing who truly deserves a seat at my table.
It’s not being stingy.
Not being cruel or unkind.
It’s protecting my boundaries.
Protecting my resources - energy, money, time.
Keeping my table open for everyone is toxic.
And I vowed to stop living that way.
So I’m removing seats one by one.
I’m closing the door when I feel it’s not right anymore.
I’m turning off the kitchen light,
shutting off the stove when I’m done for the day.
No more extras.
No more seconds.
No more extra plate.
My table is still full.
I still cook with love.
I just don’t serve it to everyone anymore.
Only to those who know how to appreciate the love behind each dish served.
And those people?
They get seconds.
And an extra helping of love.
--
Lady E
P. S.
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