A Heart Like a Whorehouse
Many of us like to think of ourselves as caring people. We listen, we support, and we do our best to be there when others need us.
Caring is, after all, one of the most beautiful qualities of being human.
But sometimes our capacity to care gets stretched to the point where it feels less like a gift and more like a curse. It can feel as though our heart has become a whorehouse; open all hours, anyone welcome, nobody ever turned away.
The result?
Exhaustion, resentment, and an emotional emptiness that no amount of good intentions can fill.
In this we will explore what happens when care tips into over-care, when our boundaries vanish, and we find ourselves living other people’s lives instead of our own.
Why Caring Feels So Natural
Humans are hardwired to care.
Neuroscience shows that empathy is embedded in our biology. Mirror neurons, discovered in the 1990s, allow us to “feel” what others feel, activating the same regions of the brain that fire when we ourselves experience pain or joy (Iacoboni, 2009).
Caring is also deeply cultural.
Societies thrive on cooperation, reciprocity, and mutual aid. Parents nurture children, friends comfort friends, and nurses soothe patients. Without these bonds, we’d be lost.
But the very mechanisms that make us compassionate also make us vulnerable.
When we consistently take on more than our share of others’ struggles, the nervous system responds as if those problems are our own. Stress hormones spike, sleep suffers, and our sense of identity blurs.
It is why psychologists talk about “compassion fatigue” or “empathic distress” (Figley, 2002).
The Trap of the Open Heart
Consider Jing, a therapist who spent her working hours supporting clients and her evenings consoling friends. Her friends looked up to her, and she felt she couldn’t turn them away. And for a while, she felt purposeful.
But eventually, she began waking up drained, feeling like she had no space left for herself. Her heart had become crowded with everyone else’s fears, griefs, and frustrations.
Jing’s story is familiar.
Caregivers, teachers, healthcare workers, and even naturally empathetic friends can slide into this trap. The irony is that the very act of trying to help reduces our capacity to be helpful.
Research has shown that chronic over-empathy correlates with higher rates of depression and burnout (Decety & Lamm, 2006).
When we don’t draw lines, we burn out emotionally.
The Case for Boundaries
Boundaries often get a bad rap.
To some, they sound like walls or barriers, the opposite of love. But boundaries are less about shutting people out and more about keeping ourselves whole. Think of them as the skin of the psyche. Skin doesn’t prevent connection; it allows us to interact with the world without losing our blood in the process.
Drs. Henry Cloud and John Townsend (1992) describe boundaries as essential to emotional health. They enable us to decide what we are responsible for and what we are not. Without them, we become perpetual rescuers, and rescuers eventually drown.
Tanvi, a nurse, offers a good example.
She loves her profession but quickly realised she couldn’t absorb her patients’ pain and then carry the emotional weight of her friends’ crises at home.
She made a deliberate choice: when she left the hospital, she unplugged.
Time was reserved for her hobbies, her relationships, and her rest. Far from making her cold, it made her effective. She was present at work and thriving in her personal life.
Caring Without Owning
Here lies the subtle but crucial distinction: caring is not the same as owning.
We often confuse the two.
If a friend loses their job, we feel we must fix it. If a sibling is going through a divorce, we act as mediators. If our child struggles at school, we hover like helicopters.
The problem is that ownership robs others of agency.
Take John, who habitually leapt to solve everyone’s crises. His wallet, advice, and time were always on the table, even when nobody asked. Over time, his friends stopped solving problems themselves. Resentment grew on both sides. John was tired; his friends were disempowered.
Psychologists call this “enabling”, taking responsibility for another person’s growth in ways that stunt it.
Brené Brown (2015) reminds us that genuine empathy does not require us to carry someone else’s backpack. It requires us to sit with them as they shoulder it, offering presence rather than solutions.
When Good Intentions Go Wrong
Nowhere is the risk of over-care clearer than in parenting.
“Helicopter parenting” is often driven by love, but it deprives children of resilience.
Studies show that children of overprotective parents struggle more with anxiety and decision-making in adulthood (Segrin et al., 2012). Shielding them from every stumble leaves them ill-equipped for life’s inevitable falls.
The same dynamic plays out in friendships and romantic relationships.
Smothering care, constantly checking in, solving problems before they arise, and protecting a partner from discomfort can choke intimacy rather than nurture it.
A genuine connection requires the space for each person to stand on their own.
The Physiology of Over-Care
There is also a physical toll to endless caring.
Research demonstrates that prolonged stress activates the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal (HPA) axis, flooding the body with cortisol. While short bursts of stress help us respond in emergencies, chronic elevation of stress hormones damages the immune system, increases cardiovascular risk, and accelerates burnout (McEwen, 2007).
This is why professional caregivers often report higher rates of illness and absenteeism.
A study on nurses found that emotional exhaustion strongly predicted both physical symptoms and job turnover (Vahey et al., 2004). Caring is not just emotionally draining; it literally gets under the skin.
The Art of Finding Balance
So how do we care without collapsing? The answer is not to stop caring. Coldness is not the cure. Instead, it is about finding balance. Here are some practical steps:
1. Practice mindful empathy.
Notice when you are absorbing emotions rather than simply acknowledging them. Research shows that compassion meditation reduces empathic distress while increasing resilience (Singer & Klimecki, 2014).
2. Set time boundaries.
Allocate hours for listening and supporting, as well as for rest and play. Protecting “non-negotiable” downtime preserves your energy.
3. Say no with clarity.
Refusing a request doesn’t mean rejecting the person. As Cloud and Townsend (1992) argue, “no” is a complete sentence.
4. Encourage ownership.
Instead of fixing, ask questions: What do you think you’ll do? How can I support you in trying that? This builds others’ problem-solving muscles.
5. Check your motives.
Sometimes over-care hides our own need for control, approval, or identity as “the helpful one.” Honest self-reflection helps untangle these motives.
6. Seek replenishment.
Joy, creativity, and solitude are not luxuries. They are fuel. Just as a car can’t run on fumes, neither can the human heart.
Caring for the Caregivers
It’s worth noting that whole professions depend on people with open hearts.
Therapists, social workers, clergy, and nurses are expected to show boundless compassion. Yet systems rarely protect them from over-care. This is why “burnout prevention” programs and supervision are vital.
Lori Gottlieb (2019), herself a therapist, writes candidly about the necessity of therapy for therapists. Without their own support, even the strongest practitioners falter.
On a personal level, if you find yourself in a caregiving role, acknowledge that you are not a bottomless well. You deserve rest, laughter, and joy as much as anyone you serve.
Reclaiming the Whorehouse Heart
Let’s revisit the metaphor.
A heart like a whorehouse is open, available, and overrun. Anyone can enter, anytime, with any need. It is not sustainable.
Instead, strive for a well-curated home.
A place with open doors, yes, but also with walls, windows, and a lock. Guests are welcome, but not at the expense of the homeowner’s health.
This shift requires courage. It requires tolerating the discomfort of saying no, of watching others struggle, of risking disapproval.
But it also yields freedom. When we learn to care without drowning, we preserve the very thing that makes our care valuable in the first place.
Conclusion
To care is to be human. But to care wisely is to be whole.
Without boundaries, our empathy collapses under its own weight, leaving us resentful and depleted. With boundaries, our care becomes sustainable, generous, and authentic.
Until next time, don’t let your heart become a whorehouse, open to everyone, all the time, with no thought for your own survival. Instead, guard it, nourish it, and let it serve as a place of genuine welcome. Because when your heart is strong, it is not only yours to keep; it is also a gift to give.
Dion Le Roux
References
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4. Figley, C. R. (2002). Treating compassion fatigue. Brunner-Routledge.
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11. Vahey, D. C., Aiken