Skip to main content

Kill Em With Kindness




I stumbled upon an NPR gem titled “When kindness becomes a habit, it improves our health” by Maria Godoy, which argues that simple acts—like tutoring kids or bringing soup to a neighbor—can boost both mental and physical well-being. It even references the Baltimore Experience Corps trial: older volunteers “didn’t experience declines in memory and executive function” and showed measurable increases in brain volume. The article quotes Tara Gruenewald: “Volunteering or doing an act of kindness can distract you from some of the problems that you might be having... it may help to give you more perspective."

Picture a neural TikTok: every “thank you” you receive floods your head with dopamine, oxytocin, and the smug satisfaction of knowing you’re basically evolving. Harvard’s Laura Kubzansky chimes in, noting that lowering stress from kindness may help protect your heart and brainI. n short, the brain literally gets buff from being nice.

Now, let’s get personal: I’ve skewed too generous at times—not just generous, but borderline martyr. People-pleasing was my drug of choice, the sticky sugar that fed a shame-fueled alcoholism spiral. I was pouring out kindness like it was free therapy, hoping each nod or smile would slap a Band-Aid on a shapeless, bushed-out shame. But kindness in overdose doesn’t heal—it corrodes.

Thankfully, I’m in recovery now. No longer bending like a reed in the wind of others’ expectations. I don’t coddle my self-worth on approval. But make no mistake—this is not a withdrawal from kindness. I’m not turning into a villain—just a sane, clean version of a kind person. I still tutor, I still drop off soup, I still listen. I’ve stripped the people-pleaser from the equation, but I’ve kept the essence intact—heart without leash, compassion without leash.

The NPR piece closes with a thought from Gruenewald: “we really can't go wrong when we engage in behaviors that aim to help others." And she’s right—when kindness isn’t a currency for affection, it’s a gift, a ripple. My recovery journey is proof: when kindness is authentic, unencumbered by self-loathing, it heals—not just others, but me too.

Curious for more? You’ll find my deeper reflections in my books, all linked at the top of my homepage. They explore this delicate dance between compassion and chaos, and how one finds clarity beyond the noise.

Read the full article here: https://www.npr.org/sections/shots-health-news/2024/12/25/nx-s1-5233123/kindness-heart-brain-mental-health



 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

My Books

  My Books **Discover Worlds Beyond Your Imagination**   Step into the library of my mind—a place where stories run wild, characters come alive, and each book is a doorway to a different world. From the crackle of a freshly turned page to the glow of your favorite device, these tales are waiting for you to dive in.   Imagine holding a map that leads to laughter, heartbreak, mystery, or adventure. That’s what you’ll find here—books that whisper, shout, and sing. Each one is crafted with care, shaped by midnight musings and coffee-fueled mornings.   Amazon may be the bustling metropolis where most of you stop by, but these stories stretch far and wide—Barnes & Noble, Apple Books, Kobo, and more. No matter where you like to read, there’s a seat waiting for you.   Ready to explore? Click “My Books” at the top or bottom of this page and see what’s waiting for you. Each book is a ticket. All you have to do is choose your destination.   My Books

Cocaine Cola and Recovery

  Buy Cocaine Cola  The first time I held a composition notebook in my hands at rehab, I felt like a soldier clutching a sword in a battle I wasn’t sure I could win. Recovery—from alcoholism, from myself—was not the hero’s journey I had romanticized in my more delusional moments. It was more like crawling through a swamp with a broken compass. And yet, somehow, amid the sweat-soaked nightmares and the relentless peeling back of layers I had spent years constructing, I found the spark to create. Let me start at the beginning—or rather, one of the beginnings. You see, alcoholism has a funny way of offering you new beginnings all the time, but they’re never the kind you want. I had just hit one of those new beginnings, a rock bottom that made me look at myself and think, “This can’t be it. This cannot be how the story ends.” The days leading up to rehab are a blur, like a badly edited montage of shame, regret, and staggering attempts at normalcy. But once I walked through those ...

The Memory Broker Is Available Now!

Buy The Memory Broker Some stories simmer. Others scream. The Memory Broker did both. This one didn’t knock politely at the door of my imagination. It kicked it clean off the hinges and dragged me into the neon-soaked underworld of a future I didn’t even know I had in me. I was in the middle of writing Wishes of a Mortal Man —a quieter, more grounded project—when the idea for The Memory Broker hit like a jolt from a cracked-out data node. I tried to ignore it. I really did. But some stories don’t wait their turn. This one came armed with chrome teeth and a bad attitude, whispering things like: “What if memory could be bought and sold? What if someone stole the wrong one?” So I listened. I shelved Wishes (temporarily, I promise), picked up a pen—yes, a real one, because this all started while I was in rehab, where laptops and phones are locked away like weapons—and started writing. By hand. On paper. With caffeine, insomnia, and raw nerve fueling every scribbled line. Eventually I f...