Today, I got a €189 fine. 

 I’m not sure what traffic rule I broke, but if I were to fine myself for something I did wrong, it would be this:

I wanted to be with a friend at the hospital when she was about to hear the news that she had cancer, even though I’m not sure she actually wanted me there.

I told myself I had to be by her side in such a difficult moment. When I offered, I sensed some hesitation in her voice, but I assumed she didn’t want to inconvenience me. So, I insisted—convinced that I knew better than she did what she needed.

But the truth is, once again, I confused my need to be helpful with someone else’s real needs. I often think that people refuse my help out of pride, embarrassment, or because they don’t want to inconvenience me. And so I push, applying pressure where I should be giving space.

It wasn’t until I was left at the door that I remembered something important: boundaries strengthen friendships. It hurt. It was hard to accept that I couldn’t do anything for someone I care about. It was hard to accept that, no matter how deep our friendship is, it doesn’t give me the right to cross someone else’s lines—even when my intentions are good.

There have been moments when, in my eagerness to be close, to offer support or comfort, I went beyond what should have been a simple, “I’m here for you if you need me.” I asked to be let in, not realising that the space between us wasn’t an open door but a window through which she was saying she wasn’t ready to let me in.

My insistence, I now see, came from my own fear—fear of being rejected, of seeming indifferent or uninvolved, from a need to prove I’m a good friend. But when I insist, I turn what should be a gesture of love into a subtle form of control.

Maybe my friend needed peace. Or maybe she needed to be alone with her thoughts, without worrying about me.

Maybe real help means being there where and when you’re wanted, not where and when you think you should be.

The heart-wrenching truth about my friendship is not every battle is mine to fight, no matter how much it hurts to stand on the sidelines. Sometimes, true love means respecting the distance, letting go of the urge to save someone, and understanding that support can sometimes mean doing absolutely nothing.

Insistence isn’t love, and unsolicited help can become a form of intrusion, taking away someone else’s right to choose. 

I’ve learned, once again, that offering help isn’t about me. It’s about them. About what they need—not what I think they should receive.

And maybe, sometimes, the greatest good I can do is to wait and do nothing.

Ironically, the fine I got was from that very drive to the hospital, so I’m going to call it a friendship fine. If I were fined every time I crossed a boundary, maybe I’d be much more careful about them.