A Caring Heart, a Reckless Wallet

There is something about the way I was raised that made caring come naturally to me. I grew up believing that life’s true measure isn’t in what you have, but in what you give. Over the years, that belief shaped how I relate with people, family, friends, even strangers. I have always been the one who wants to see others smile, even if it costs me my own comfort.

It’s not an exaggeration to say I could give my last kobo to someone in need. I have done it before, too many times to count. Someone calls, someone cries, someone explains how bad things are, and even if I don’t have much, I’ll find a way to make something happen. Sometimes it’s not even because I have plenty, but because I can’t stand the thought of someone I care about suffering while I still have something left.

But here’s the part I never used to talk about, the flip side of that generous heart. Because while I have built a reputation for being kind and dependable, I have also learned that caring without control can lead you straight into chaos.

There have been times I have looked at my account balance and sighed. Not because I didn’t make money, but because I didn’t manage it well. Times when the same people I once helped became ghosts when I needed a helping hand. It’s a painful reality, realizing that the world doesn’t always reciprocate kindness the way you give it. I used to take it personally, but now I understand that it’s a lesson in balance, not bitterness.

I am a man who takes pride in being a father, a present one. I love my family deeply, and they mean everything to me. I have always wanted to be the kind of father whose children can say, “Daddy was always there for us.” But in trying to be everything to everyone, I lost sight of something equally important - sustainability.

There’s a thin line between being caring and being financially reckless, and I crossed that line more than once. I have made impulsive financial decisions out of compassion. I have loaned money I didn’t have. I have spent what should have been saved, and I have helped others build stability while my own foundation shook.

And I’ll be honest, there were moments when I felt used, unappreciated, even foolish. But maturity has a way of teaching you gently. It shows you that wisdom isn’t about stopping your kindness; it’s about managing it.

That’s why I made a decision, to unlearn my reckless patterns and rebuild a healthier relationship with money. I am currently taking a course on financial management and discipline, not because I suddenly became stingy, but because I have realized that you can’t pour from an empty cup. You can’t keep giving when your tank is dry.

I know some people may wonder why I am sharing this thought so openly. The truth is, I am not writing for pity or praise. I am sharing because someone out there might see themselves in these words, someone who gives so much that they forget to keep something for themselves. If this reflection helps even one person pause, think, and make better choices, then it’s worth putting out there.

I am learning that being a caring father and a responsible man means more than just providing, it means planning, prioritizing, and protecting the future. It means saying “no” sometimes, not out of selfishness, but out of wisdom.

The truth is, my heart is still soft, and I am proud of that. I still believe in kindness, generosity, and helping people rise. But I now understand that care must have structure, and love must have limits. Because if you don’t control your giving, your giving will control you.

I am still evolving, learning, growing, and balancing my heart with my head. I may always be the man who gives easily, but I am now becoming the man who gives wisely.

This is the version of me I am growing into, one my family will cherish, my children will learn from, and my future will thank me for.