caring by not taking care

"Presence is care. To be witnessed in the fullness of your humanity is being cared for."

Caring for each other creates community, connection, safety, and comfort. When I am cared for, I relax, and in the comfort and safety of a caring community, I can allow myself to be vulnerable, fall apart, and find a space to heal. This experience empowers me. Care is a value cherished by most societies, and it is reflected in how a society treats its children, the needy, the sick, the disabled, and the elderly. Recognizing that we all have been or will be part of one of these groups at some point makes it self-evident that we should treat the vulnerable as we would wish to be treated when we are in that position.

Caring for each other seems ingrained in our nature. According to Darwin’s theory of evolution, care can be viewed as a form of collective fitness: tribes that didn’t care for one another were less likely to survive. Therefore care is part of our human nature. It creates a network of support and nurturing, helping us develop our abilities, heal our wounds, and grow stronger when we stand together.

“Taking care,” on the other hand, can be seen as a judgment about someone’s need, followed by the automatic activation of care actions. For example, if someone cries, they need a hug. If someone is angry, they need to be calmed. If someone is silent, they need to be invited to speak.

In workshops, when a participant begins to cry during a sharing or practice, someone often offers comfort by touching or hugging them. In some cases, this is valuable and desired support, which can be considered caring. However, at times it is an invasion of personal space without consent, which would be considered a lack of care.

The distinction between these seemingly identical actions lies in attunement—how well the comforter’s actions align with the needs of the tearful person, and whether there is consent.

When the comforter sensitively listens to the tearful person's needs and receives consent, they are truly serving or giving, while the person with sadness is accepting or receiving (as per Betty Martin's Wheel of Consent terminology). If the comforter’s actions don’t align with the tearful person’s needs, but consent is given, then the comforter may be “taking” (doing something for themselves), while the tearful person allows it. In this case, though it appears the comforter is helping, it is actually the reverse. The tearful person allows the comforter to hug them, to decrease the comforter's own discomfort with sadness.

In the worst case, where there is no consent, the comforter may be imposing on or even victimizing the tearful person.

It gets even more complex when the comforter is taking care not out of personal desire, but out of a sense of obligation. In this scenario, the comforter isn’t truly consenting to their caregiving role. Both people end up allowing care to happen while feeling like victims of the situation. (For more on this, read our blog: Stop Colonizing Yourself)

How did we get here?

I propose that taking care has, in some cases, become a tool of social control, censorship, and disempowerment. Without unwanted care taking, we might feel freer to express and explore difficult emotions together. This openness would help us feel connected in our most intimate personal struggles, allowing us to resonate with each other and realise that this emotionally intense, sometimes inconsistent and bizar inner world is shared by all of humanity. As we witness others not only accepting us as we are but also recognising themselves in our emotional confusion, it becomes easier to accept ourselves. Our relationships, both with others and ourselves, would deepen. But by unconsciously perpetuating the care-taking dynamic, we risk reinforcing patriarchal suppression—devaluing ourselves by taking on a disempowered caregiving role, and containing and suppressing our emotions. (disclaimer: Being a caregiver is valuable and can be empowering when it is an autonomous choice aligned with one’s personal desires. Selfless caregiving is as much a practice of liberation as is not taking care)

So, what’s the alternative? To care by being present and available. Sensitively listening to yourself and your body. Without censorship or shame, honestly share what it’s like to be you. Deeply listen to others, so you can feel as they feel and see the world as they do, without trying to change anything. Don’t make anything happen, and don’t prevent anything from happening. Just be with what is, and be available for whatever the situation requires (we call this authentic presence). Lean into the discomfort, recognizing your own needs and fears. This way, you won’t confuse your need to care for or be cared for with genuine care for another. (Listen also to our podcasts: A Case Against Love)

This presence is care. To be witnessed in the fullness of your humanity is being cared for. This form of care embodies our definition of love (inspired by Scott Peck): extending oneself to support one’s own and another’s existential development. Caring by not “taking care” as an act of liberation.

What do you think? Join the conversation on Facebook, Instagram, Linkedin or X.

Gratitude to Danielle Verheye & Jolanda Scherpenzeel, their comments have improved this post.

______________

If you want to liberate yourself from the care-taking corset, join our practices of authentic presence: https://zurl.co/7Wc0

Join our community on WhatApp: click here or scan:

Further reading: I found afterwards this book: Ferrarese, E. (2021). The Fragility of Concern for Others. She argues that true care requires vulnerability, a relinquishment of control, and an openness to understanding others on their own terms.