The Giving Tree and the Cost of Giving Too Much

I’ve been reflecting a lot on change lately. Not just the obvious kind, like autumn leaves turning or days growing shorter, but the more subtle, internal shifts. The way our beliefs evolve. The way something that once comforted us can, with time and experience, become unsettling. The way we wake up one day and realize we no longer see the world the same way we once did.

Recently, I talked with a young person about Sex and the City — a series that used to be a cultural milestone for many women, including myself. I remember admiring the independence, friendship, fashion, and the unapologetic chase of personal dreams. But from a different perspective, I saw something else: characters who, at times, acted in deeply self-centered or toxic ways. It was eye-opening. Not because I agreed with everything they said, but because it made me realize how our standards, values, and interpretations evolve over time.

And that realization came into even sharper focus when I revisited a book I once held dear: The Giving Treeby Shel Silverstein.

I used to read that story to my children with love in my heart. I saw the tree’s unwavering generosity as a beautiful metaphor for unconditional love — the kind of love we hope to offer our families, our friends, our communities. I saw the boy as simply growing up, moving through life, returning when he needed comfort. I didn’t question it. For years, we all celebrated that story. We taught it in schools. We gifted it to new parents.

But this time, when I read it, I felt something different.

I felt sadness. I felt loss. I felt… unease.

Because this time, I didn’t just see love. I saw a relationship deeply out of balance. A tree that gave everything — her fruit, her limbs, her trunk — until she was nothing but a stump. And a boy who took, and took, and took, never once pausing to ask if the tree had enough left for herself.

It made me wonder: why was this glorified?

And more importantly, why do we continue to tell ourselves — especially as women, caregivers, nurturers — that this is what love is supposed to look like?

Don’t get me wrong; generosity is a beautiful thing. Compassion is essential. Being there for others is one of life’s greatest joys and purposes. However, there’s a fine line between generosity and self-erasure, between compassion and codependency, and between love and burnout.

We live in a world that often equates worth with what we give. How selfless we are. How little we need. But that mindset can lead to quiet destruction. We pour ourselves out for others and somewhere along the way, we lose sight of our own needs, our own voice, and our own roots.

What if we taught a different kind of giving? One that includes self-awareness. One that says, “I will show up for you, but not at the expense of myself.” One that models mutuality, balance, and respect. One where both the tree and the boy grow, side by side.

Reading The Giving Tree again didn’t ruin the story for me. It just changed it. It expanded it. It opened a door to a deeper conversation about what we value, what we teach, and how we love.

So no, I don’t hate the book. I just see it differently now. And maybe that’s the gift of growth — the ability to hold multiple truths. The ability to say, “This meant something beautiful to me once. And now, it means something else.”

As we move through our own seasons of change, I hope we continue to revisit the stories we’ve outgrown, not with shame or cynicism, but with curiosity and care.

And I hope we learn to give with open hearts but not empty hands.