BE A GUARDIAN, NOT A HERO

Why people don’t need rescuers — they need space to grow, break, and rebuild on their own

1. INTRODUCTION: THE DIFFERENCE NO ONE TEACHES

Most people try to help others by jumping in, solving problems, and giving advice. They want to fix things. But that is not always helpful.

There are two types of people:

The hero wants to rescue and be appreciated.

The guardian supports quietly without taking control.

A hero wants to be seen. A guardian wants the other person to grow on their own.

2. HERO VS GUARDIAN: COMPARATIVE EXAMPLES

A. When someone is in pain:

Hero: "Let me fix this for you."

Guardian: "I’m here if you need me. Take your time."

Example:

If a friend is crying, the hero gives a lecture on how to feel better. The guardian sits nearby and waits.

B. When a child makes a mistake:

Hero: "Don’t worry, I’ll fix it."

Guardian: "Let’s understand what happened. You can try again."

Example:

If a child spills water, the hero wipes it up immediately. The guardian gives the child a cloth and lets them clean it.

C. During someone’s healing process:

Hero: "Do this. Eat this. Take this medicine."

Guardian: "What do you feel your body needs now? I can help you prepare it."

Example:

If someone is unwell, the hero sends 10 health tips. The guardian asks if they want food or rest.

D. When someone is learning something new:

Hero: "That’s not how you do it. Let me show you."

Guardian: "You're on the right track. Keep going."

Example:

If a child is tying shoelaces, the hero does it for them. The guardian watches and encourages.

E. In marriage or relationships:

Hero: "Let me speak for you. I know what's best."

Guardian: "You take your time to explain. I’m with you."

Example:

At a hospital, the hero answers every question on behalf of the partner. The guardian stays nearby and lets them speak.

F. When someone fails:

Hero: "You should have done it this way."

Guardian: "What did you learn? How can I help next time?"

Example:

If someone burns the food, the hero criticizes or takes over. The guardian helps clean up and lets them try again.

3. WHY PEOPLE CHOOSE TO BE HEROES

They feel uncomfortable watching others suffer.

They want to feel useful and important.

They believe they know better.

But this often makes the other person feel small, dependent, or powerless.

4. WHY GUARDIANS ARE BETTER FOR LONG-TERM GROWTH

Guardians protect space for others to make decisions.

They listen more and speak less.

They build trust and confidence in the other person.

Result:

People who are supported by guardians become stronger and more independent.

5. CONCLUSION

Most people want to help. But not everyone knows how to help in the right way.

Being a hero feels good, but often it slows down the other person’s growth.

Being a guardian means:

Waiting.

Listening.

Supporting only when asked.

Let people build their strength. Don’t take over their journey.

Heroes want to be seen. Guardians help others see themselves.

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“You Were Never Their God: A Healing Dialogue Between Madhukar the Healer and a Tired Guardian from Hyderabad”

Setting:

A warm afternoon in the countryside.

The air smells of wet earth and firewood.

Birds chatter in the guava tree.

Madhukar is sitting on a low cot, under a neem tree.

A man from Hyderabad, around 48, walks toward him—shoulders tense, jaw clenched, slippers covered in city dust.

---

VISITOR (sitting heavily on the edge of the cot):

They told me you listen.

Not fix.

Not lecture.

Just listen.

---

MADHUKAR (pouring warm water into a clay cup):

That’s true.

And if you sit long enough, I might ask a few questions too.

But never to impress.

Only to reveal what you’ve been hiding from yourself.

Drink this. For the heat.

---

VISITOR (drinks, then leans forward):

I’m tired, Madhukar.

Not from one event.

Not from any illness.

Just… tired of being the one who always knows what to do.

---

MADHUKAR:

And who told you that you had to?

---

VISITOR:

No one.

And everyone.

Since I was 13—when my father died.

And my mother cried.

And relatives said, “He’s the man of the house now.”

I became a guardian overnight.

Of her emotions.

Of my sister’s future.

Of our reputation.

And I never left that role.

---

MADHUKAR:

So you’ve spent 35 years holding torches for others.

But walking in the dark yourself.

---

VISITOR:

Exactly.

My sister married.

My mother is gone.

My wife still waits for me to stay strong.

My son wants to “follow his own path,” but relies on my money.

And when I get quiet, people say—

“What happened, anna? You’re not your usual self.”

They only love my strength, not me.

---

MADHUKAR (gently):

They never met you.

Only the version of you that was useful.

---

VISITOR (visibly shaken):

Yes.

Yes.

That’s what I’ve been trying to say.

I’ve been solving, guiding, lifting, planning, shielding…

But no one’s ever asked how I’m doing.

Because I trained them not to.

---

MADHUKAR:

You became their God.

But forgot to be human.

---

VISITOR:

That sounds dramatic, but it’s true.

I never allowed anyone else to fail.

Not because I’m great.

Because I was scared.

Scared of watching people I love get hurt.

Scared of being blamed.

Scared of being useless.

---

MADHUKAR:

So you became indispensable.

But not peaceful.

You kept everyone from drowning…

While you forgot how to float.

---

VISITOR:

What am I supposed to do now?

---

MADHUKAR:

First: grieve.

Grieve the life you never got to live.

Grieve the boy who never got to be messy.

Grieve the man who had to become dependable at the cost of being whole.

---

VISITOR:

And then?

---

MADHUKAR:

Then you stop rescuing.

---

VISITOR (startled):

But… won’t everything collapse?

---

MADHUKAR:

Maybe.

But collapse isn’t failure.

It’s truth showing its face.

People grow when you stop insulating them.

And you grow when you stop performing godhood.

---

VISITOR:

Then what do I become? If I stop being their backbone?

---

MADHUKAR:

You become their equal.

A person—not a ladder.

You start building your days not on obligation…

…but on rhythm.

Sleep when you're tired.

Eat for digestion, not drama.

Speak only when silence would hurt.

Let people misunderstand you.

Let them complain.

Let them adapt to your healing—or leave.

---

VISITOR:

Isn’t that selfish?

---

MADHUKAR:

No.

Rescuing to be loved is selfish.

Healing to be honest is not.

---

VISITOR (voice trembling):

I’ve forgotten how to live without crisis.

---

MADHUKAR:

Then you learn again.

Like a child.

Through rhythm.

Not through rebellion.

Come help me tomorrow with planting.

Touch the soil.

Stay with us for three days.

No calls.

No fixes.

No “urgent” emails.

We’ll eat ragi.

Apply castor oil on your back.

We’ll sweat in the sun.

Then, on the third day, we’ll sit again.

And I’ll ask,

“How does it feel to not be useful?”

And maybe, just maybe—

You’ll smile.

---

[The visitor doesn’t speak. He simply nods. For the first time in years, his shoulders loosen. He doesn’t feel “better.” But he feels allowed. And that’s where healing always begins.]

---

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“You Were Never Meant to Carry It All”: The Last Day of Healing with Madhukar

[Day 3. Early morning. The dew is still clinging to the leaves. The visitor from Hyderabad has stayed with Madhukar for two full days—eaten simple food, worked barefoot on red soil, slept without a fan, and for the first time, spoken to no one who needed anything from him.]

He sits now on a mat under a tamarind tree. Madhukar brews fresh tulsi water nearby. Both are quiet. Then—like the soft breaking of a dam—the last conversation begins.

---

VISITOR (sighs deeply, but without strain):

Something strange happened last night.

I didn’t think about anyone.

Not my son.

Not my wife.

Not even my team at work.

It scared me…

and then it didn’t.

---

MADHUKAR:

That’s not strange.

That’s rest.

And it arrives only after you stop performing identity.

---

VISITOR:

But now the real question hits me.

If I stop being the rescuer, the backbone…

Who am I?

---

MADHUKAR (without looking up):

You are a man.

With breath.

And bones.

And a history.

But not a role.

---

VISITOR:

I’ve spent my entire life being important.

Needed.

Respected.

Feared.

Now I feel like no one will chase me when I go silent.

---

MADHUKAR:

That’s not loneliness.

That’s detox.

People get addicted to being central.

To being “irreplaceable.”

They confuse sacrifice with value.

But healing means stepping out of the center.

You’ve been the fire for too long.

Now become the ash.

And watch what grows from it.

---

VISITOR:

You make it sound peaceful.

But it's terrifying.

The phone isn’t ringing.

No one is asking me for anything.

It’s like I’ve died—but still breathing.

---

MADHUKAR:

That’s exactly what’s happening.

Your old self is dying.

The guardian.

The problem-solver.

The always-available one.

Let him die.

That version kept the house alive—but never lit a lamp for himself.

---

VISITOR (looks away, eyes wet):

Then what do I do when I return to Hyderabad?

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MADHUKAR:

You don’t return as the same man.

You return without your cape.

Let them face their own consequences.

Let your grown child budget.

Let your wife express disappointment.

Let your team miss deadlines.

And do not explain.

You are not their crutch.

You are not their punishment either.

Just… stop being the one who holds the fort when others burn it.

---

VISITOR:

And what do I hold instead?

---

MADHUKAR:

Hold your spine.

Hold your schedule.

Hold a ladle in your own kitchen.

Hold your bowel movements regular.

Hold your breath in the early morning sun.

Hold your silence when people bait you.

That is your new service.

---

VISITOR (softly):

I’m not sure they’ll like this new version of me.

---

MADHUKAR:

They don’t have to.

You do.

Respect is not earned by over-functioning.

It is quietly commanded by those who are at ease with themselves.

Be that man.

---

[Madhukar rises. Hands him a steel box filled with castor oil. A tiny packet of ragi ladoos. A folded cotton cloth. And a handwritten note that reads: “Your job now is to live—without apology, without urgency, without proving.”]

The visitor stands.

His spine taller.

But his face gentler.

---

MADHUKAR (placing a hand on his shoulder):

You were never meant to carry it all.

Now walk away from what was never yours to hold.

---

[The man leaves. Not with purpose. Not with pressure.

Just with presence.

And that, finally, is enough.]

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“Be a Guardian, Not a Hero (Rescuer)”

This poem now aligns directly with the essay's core message:

It’s not about a passive caretaker or default guardian.

It’s about a hero personality—the type who jumps in, rescues, saves, sacrifices, solves everything, becomes essential, and burns out.

This is a huge, layered, Bukowski-styled poem — raw, Indian, simple in language, but deep and brutal in content.

It tracks the entire arc of the “hero” mindset: from early validation, through years of over-functioning, to the eventual collapse—and the shift to a guardian who watches, supports, but no longer saves.

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“Be a Guardian, Not a Hero”

A slow-burning Indian poem for those who were raised to rescue everyone—until it broke them.

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they said i was a hero

when i solved things nobody asked me to.

when i stepped in before the cracks spread.

when i swallowed pain

and smiled like it was protein.

they clapped when i burned.

---

i was fifteen

when i learned that fixing things

earned silence in the house.

fewer fights.

less drama.

more respect.

i was eighteen

when i thought love meant

taking everyone's shit

and turning it into peace.

---

i carried breakups for friends

career choices for siblings

marriage compromises for parents

financial gaps for relatives

and emotional dead weight for my partner

because i could.

because they said,

“you’re so strong.”

“what would we do without you?”

---

they called me mature.

selfless.

gifted.

“one of a kind.”

but nobody asked

if i ever wanted to be normal.

if i wanted to fall apart

without consequences.

---

i thought helping made me worthy.

so i helped like it was oxygen.

i over-functioned.

for everybody.

all the time.

until nobody else needed to.

but they still called me

when the geyser broke.

when the job offer didn’t come.

when their kid needed coaching.

when they needed “advice.”

---

i became a hero in every crisis.

but in peace?

in peace, i disappeared.

they only remembered me

when shit hit the fan.

because i made sure

no one else ever had to be uncomfortable.

i became their airbag.

their UPS backup.

their emotional ambulance.

---

but here’s what they don’t tell you:

the hero dies early.

inside.

quietly.

from overuse.

---

my body started telling the truth

when i wouldn’t.

acid reflux.

constipation.

panic at 2 a.m.

tight chest.

rage with no name.

---

i snapped one evening.

not with a bang.

but a stillness.

i stopped answering the calls.

let the emails pile.

let them panic.

i lay on the floor

and listened to the fan spin.

and for once,

i didn’t move.

---

nobody came rushing to help.

of course not.

the hero doesn’t get a hero.

only silence.

and maybe a few whispers:

“he’s acting strange.”

“he’s changed.”

---

but i hadn’t changed.

i’d just stopped

trying to be god.

---

now i am learning

to be a guardian.

not a rescuer.

not a fixer.

not a sponge for other people’s chaos.

i still care.

but i wait.

i don’t jump.

i don’t bleed for applause.

i observe.

i offer.

but i don’t interrupt growth anymore

just to keep things smooth.

---

i watch my son struggle.

i don’t save him.

i watch my friend marry the wrong person.

i stay quiet.

i let people fall.

and if they ask,

i help.

but i no longer take over.

---

because a hero thinks

he is responsible for the whole story.

a guardian knows

he is just part of it.

---

i am not their god anymore.

i am the ground.

i stay steady.

they can fall, rise, fall again.

but i remain rooted.

not because i must.

but because i choose to.

without burning.

---

i used to be their hero.

now, quietly,

i have become their soil.

and this

is the first time

i’ve felt alive.

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