The Weight of “Anything”
It’s interesting how our dreams shift as our circumstances change.
Back in 2019, I set a goal to own at least an apartment by 2023. I began financially preparing for it, imagining it as proof of my hard work over the previous years. But by 2022, I realised I hadn’t lived enough to tie myself to a mortgage in one place so soon. Why not live across countries and continents for a few years before putting down roots? It was a wishful thought I didn’t take too seriously.
Little did I know the universe would lean into that dream. Very recently, I’ve had the privilege of moving country and continent again. And while this feels like a dream, I’ll admit: I dislike the pre-settlement phase. I put immense pressure on myself to get everything in order within a tight timeline. Yet I still haven’t learned that making a house a home takes more than furniture and toiletries, it takes time, patience, and more than I usually allow.
In the midst of this latest move, I found myself thinking about my village, and once again on the receiving end of a well-worn phrase: “I’m here if you need anything.”
I know it comes from a good place (and truthfully, it’s something I’ve said to others many times). But I can’t help wondering: is it simply an obligatory expression of support, or is it meant to be taken literally? How far can “anything” really stretch before it becomes too much for the one offering?
The truth many of us don’t name is that the promise of “anything” sounds wide open, but in practice, it rarely is. There’s usually an invisible line around what’s “reasonable” to ask: nothing too heavy, nothing too frequent, nothing that tips the balance. And so, instead of comfort, the offer can breed hesitation.
If you’re anything like me, you know the weight of perception: Am I asking for too much? Will this make me seem needy? These questions often silence the very needs we hoped to voice.
“Perhaps the real gift isn’t in offering anything, but in offering something specific, simple, and within our capacity.”
What’s missing, I believe, is specificity. The kind of support that sounds like:
“Can I bring dinner this week?”
“I’m free Saturday, want me to take the kids for an hour?”
“I’ll come by to help unpack boxes.”
These are concrete, clear, and doable. They tell the other person exactly what’s on the table, removing the second-guessing that so often blocks connection.
You might ask: But how do I know what someone needs without them telling me? A valid question. Yet isn’t it better to offer what you can - say, an hour a day - and let the person choose how that hour is spent, rather than dangle “anything” that might go beyond your capacity?
Because here’s the reality: if I ask for “anything” and hear, “I’m sorry, I can’t help with that,” chances are I won’t ask again - not now, not later. And so the well-meaning blanket offer becomes an empty one.
In seasons of change - whether moving countries, welcoming a child, or navigating a new chapter - it’s not the wide-open promise that matters most. It’s the small, clear gestures, offered within our capacity, that help us feel seen and supported.
Have you found yourself in this situation, torn between the help you need and how much you can ask for? Or have you been on the other end, offering a blank-cheque kind of support because you didn’t know what was needed, or trusted the other person to “be reasonable”? I’d love to hear your thoughts, feel free to share in the comments below.
