That space drained me. Not just physically, but creatively, emotionally. I started to dread going. Started to question myself. Started to feel like maybe I was the problem.
But it wasn’t me. It was the environment.
Michael Singer says, “The meaning of life is the experience of life.” Not the performance. Not the doing. The experience. But when low-energy places or energy-depleting people constantly surround you, you stop experiencing. You start surviving.
I’ve known people who never said a harsh word but drained the air from a room. People who constantly needed your validation, who pulled you into
their drama. People who want you to be endlessly available in the name of friendship.
But here’s what I’ve learned the hard way: availability without boundaries is dangerous.
And that’s what it feels like when you prioritise everyone else’s needs.
You
slowly erode who you are.
We’re taught to tough it out. To be nice. To push through. But pushing through draining spaces only teaches you to live with less of yourself.
And here’s the kicker: it doesn’t have to be that way.
I’ve met people who light up a room just by being present. I’ve stood in spaces so
alive with history, creativity, or quiet reverence that I left feeling more whole than when I arrived. That’s not magic. That’s energy alignment.
It’s okay to pay attention to how you feel. To notice the slow leak. To admit when something—or someone—is costing you more than it’s worth. It’s not selfish. It’s self-preservation.
Because
your energy is your life.
And the truth is, not everyone deserves access to it. Not every space is worthy of your presence.
You don’t owe the world your depletion. You owe it your aliveness.
So, find the places that recharge you. Find the people who make you feel at peace. Gravitate toward the ones
who pour into you as much as you pour into them.
Because if energy is life—and it is—then where you spend it is where your story unfolds.
Make it a story you’d live again.
Peace, love and power.