The past two years have given me every reason to lose faith in humanity. When I needed support most, I discovered how many people love the idea of helping more than actually helping. They enjoy saying “I helped someone in need” without ever taking real action. However, despite everything, despite the betrayal I’ve experienced, I’ve made a conscious choice not to let these experiences make me bitter.

I remember being in Eastern Europe, facing challenging circumstances when multiple people assured me of their love and support if I returned to the United States. They convinced me to come back, saying it would be better to be surrounded by people who cared. I had reservations – I wanted to find stable work first, knowing the high cost of living in the US would make me vulnerable. I even explained that I was afraid of falling into situations of abuse, which often happens when you’re in need. But they insisted, making promises of support that felt genuine at the time.

Those promises evaporated the moment I returned. Some even admitted they had lied to get me to come back, saying things like, “Oh, there’s no way I was going to let you do that in my house (have an emotional support help). I was just lying to get you to return to the United States.” The same people who warned me about potential mistreatment from strangers in Eastern Europe ended up treating me worse than anyone ever had.

The irony isn’t lost on me. For years, I hesitated to accept help from others, and people would say, “You never let people help you. You don’t have to struggle alone.” But these past two years have validated my original instincts. I’ve watched others in vulnerable situations be taken advantage of, but experiencing it personally has been eye-opening.

Moving from state to state, struggling to find stable work, I’ve found myself in precisely the vulnerable position I feared. Those who promised support often turned out to be the ones exploiting my situation. The very people who warned me about potential mistreatment from strangers became the source of my discomfort and pain.

Yet here’s what surprises people (and myself 🙈): I haven’t lost complete trust in humanity. Yes, I’m more cautious now. I’ve returned to my original philosophy of believing in myself first. If others offer help and follow through, that’s wonderful, but I’ve learned to have zero expectations. I’ve realized that many people enjoy the thought and words of helping others but lack the follow-through.

In these challenging economic times, when people have become very ‘me first,’ mental health is declining, and uncertainty dominates, I’ve learned an important lesson: if you don’t have the means to help—whether financially or emotionally—it’s better not to offer at all. Empty promises do more harm than simply saying, “I can’t help right now.” Or something along the lines of saying that you feel for and understand the person, but you’re just not in a position to give anything because maybe you’re just not at the capacity to provide any emotional, physical, or financial support.

Broken promises often feel like a deep betrayal because they erode trust and create emotional wounds. When someone commits—especially during a vulnerable time—their words carry weight, offering hope and a sense of security. Failing to honor those commitments doesn’t just disappoint; it can leave the person on the receiving end feeling manipulated, insignificant, or even foolish for believing. It’s a form of betrayal because it damages the foundation of trust that relationships are built on, often leaving scars far deeper than the initial hurt of saying, “I can’t help.”

I believe most people are more upset when someone makes a promise but doesn’t follow through than if no promise is made at all. Many can relate to stories of divorced parents living in separate homes, where one parent promises to visit or attend a special event for their child but never shows up, not even calling to explain. This leaves the child feeling unloved, uncared for, and even traumatized. Such situations could be avoided if the parent simply showed up without making promises, or at least communicated honestly when they couldn’t follow through. This way, false hope is minimized, and the disappointment doesn’t cut as deeply.

I hold onto hope because I’ve experienced genuine love and support before. I know a real community exists. When you find those rare, authentic connections, you must nurture and cherish them. As for everyone else – those who are saviors by word but not by action – I’ve learned to smile, appreciate their good intentions, and keep my expectations realistic.

I keep believing in humanity by focusing on the genuine connections I’ve experienced and reminding myself that not everyone is the same. For every broken promise, there have been moments of kindness that restored my faith. It helps to shift my perspective—to view betrayals as lessons and to hold onto the belief that there are still good people out there. By nurturing relationships with those who show consistency and compassion, I’ve learned that humanity’s goodness isn’t lost; it’s just found in smaller, more intentional places. And most of all, trust is to be earned not given.

The key isn’t to stop believing in humanity entirely but to understand that not everyone who offers help will follow through. The best thing we can do is focus on our own growth, keep our heads up, and work towards putting ourselves in better situations. Sometimes the strongest thing we can do is keep believing in good while protecting our hearts from disappointment.