The Snow on Your Own Doorstep

I originally wrote this piece in Chinese in 2022, and upon translating it into English, I realised just how uncompromisingly stern I sound in my mother tongue. Apparently, I turn into a Confucian uncle giving unsolicited life advice the moment I start writing in Chinese. I considered softening it, perhaps smoothing the edges to make it sound gentler or more “psychologically polished.” But then I thought, why hide the texture of it?

So I decided to publish it anyway, as it still carries something essential: the quiet, ongoing work of finding balance within one’s own sense of self. The piece was written during a period when I was witnessing, both in my patients and in myself, how easily we mistake carrying everything for being good. How easily guilt dresses itself as empathy, and how compassion without boundaries can slowly deform into self-erasure.

Just to be clear though, this article was never meant as a call for detachment, nor a refusal to help others. In another of my article I wrote about the important role of being the “compassionate container” for another’s emotions and offering the space that allows their pain to unfold without judgement. True empathy does not vanish because we have boundaries, it deepens precisely because we do.

This piece, then, is more about clarify rather than about withdrawal. It’s about learning to see where your snow ends and theirs begins, so that you may love more freely, more truthfully, without being oblivious of your own snowy path or buried by what was never yours to hold.

When I read my Chinese draft now, I can hear in it the voice of someone still learning to find warmth after years of holding responsibility too tightly. I guess that’s why the tone feels firm. It was written as much to myself as to anyone else. So, if it sounds determined, perhaps it’s because the words came from fatigue, from compassion that had turned heavy, from the ache of realising that kindness without clarity becomes self-punishment.

It’s often said that “Everyone sweeps the snow from their own doorstep,” which sounds harsh, but it actually holds a deep significance. In our lives, there are always parts we must take on and manage ourselves. If you wait for others to clear away your own difficulties, your own entanglements, your own ice, you’re just pushing your responsibility away and hoping someone else will do the work. If that person does the sweeping for you, you lose a chance to learn; if they leave you alone, you’ll be swallowed by the emptiness of your own expectation.

“Don’t force your problems onto others” isn't some cold rule, but an observation born of wisdom. You need to figure out what your “snow” is—it could be the trauma in your heart, the unhealed wounds from childhood, the greed, fear, or stubbornness you haven't yet seen clearly. These real burdens that belong to you, you must hold them in your own hands and clear them away gently, but firmly, step by step. Even if the wind is cold and the snow is deep, you have the potential to shovel it out yourself.

From another perspective, you don't have to insist on hoisting up heavy loads that aren't yours. If someone throws their burden at you, that’s their error and confusion, and you don’t need to crave the “sense of obligation” found in that fracture. If you force yourself to take it on, you might destroy yourself, or let the fragments of a broken mirror cut deep into your skin. If you leave a gap, if you don’t accept everything completely, that can be a way of protecting yourself, a gentle boundary, a clear way of saying to yourself: I have a light, and that light isn’t made of someone else’s shadows.

I once heard a story: a woman, who as a child suffered the pain of being ignored and abandoned, carried that event like a rusty nail buried deep inside her, growing countless roots over the years. As an adult, she was often demanding and driving toward those close to her; if they didn’t meet her inner expectations, she would sink into deep suffering—crying, self-harming, yelling at others that they hated her, believing the delusion that others wished her dead. As a result, those around her either submitted to her pain and tried to satisfy her, or they absolutely walked away. The ones who stayed were seen as proof that “her crying works,” and the ones who left were interpreted as “everything she said is true.” In this way, the injury deeply rooted in her childhood blossomed in her relationships.

In that setup, the friends, partners, or events in her real life weren't the real source of her pain, but simply the spark, the point where that thorn rubbed. But because the thorn was so deep, so hidden, she mistakenly believed that all her current suffering came entirely from “the events themselves”—so she was determined to toss the snow from her own doorstep onto passersby, certain it was snow they brought. She made others carry her burden, letting them become her scapegoats, making it seem as if everything about her was caused by the outside world. But the real wound was never touched; the dust was covered by layer upon layer of mirrors, still trembling in the dark.

The opposite happens too: some people swallow the problems of others, treating other people’s anger, disappointment, and dismissal as their own fault. This creates a highly “manipulable self”: if the other person is unhappy, muttering to themselves, shouting, or giving the silent treatment, it’s because “I did something wrong,” I’m the sinner, the culprit, the one who carries the responsibility. In this way, the other person’s emotions seem to have a rational explanation—“Because I messed up”—and that’s often easier to deal with than demanding the other person change. But the price of this is incredibly high: you treat yourself like a trash can for degradation, keeping all the filth thrown at you. Day by day, you forget your original colour, forget you still have a clear heart. You put on other people’s labels, plastered with their judgments, becoming like a suit of clothing sewn by others—that clothing might be ugly, or tight, or ripped, and you can’t even recognise your own original pattern.

There are too many chance meetings in the world, and other people’s errors are too heavy; your shoulders don’t need to, can’t, and shouldn’t carry all the mistakes. If you are careful and only choose the part that genuinely belongs to you to carry, letting the rest quietly fall back to its source, you will slowly begin to feel your own warmth. If you continually take every unhappiness into your chest, you will be buried by the accumulation, forgetting that you were originally a creature with flesh and blood, with dreams, with pain, and with a clear sense of being alive.

The sentence “Being a person should start with knowing yourself” is the core of all my thinking. If you haven't seen yourself clearly, even the most beautiful scenery won't truly enter your vision. If your eyes are dusty, even the best mountains and waters will be blurry. If the mirror is cracked, it doesn't mean your eyesight is bad—it might mean the cracks in the mirror are too many and too deep, making you see a fragmented reflection instead of your true self.

The first step to knowing yourself is admitting you have darkness, broken pieces, and weakness. There is no shame in this; you must bring these parts onto the stage. You must allow yourself to say: I lacked love as a child, I was once abandoned, I’m terrified of being rejected again, I long to be begged to stay, I once believed others hated me, and I’ve whipped my own anger at others… Please bring this dark self out and say to it, “I see you.” This in itself is an act of immense gentleness and courage.

Next, you need to learn to distinguish: what is the responsibility you ought to carry, and what is the burden of others that you should not take on. Responsibility is usually connected to your choices, your feelings, your beliefs; it’s inside you, with a clear cause and effect. The burdens of others piled on you are often external expectations, projections, grime, resentment, or misunderstandings. You let go, letting it return to its source; you hold on to what’s yours, and that is your own clean land.

Through the trials and the pain, you must always keep a thin line of light: that is your true self, your innermost, most honest echo. No matter how strong the wind, no matter how thick the snow, that light can still shine through. Even if the sky is dark, even if the night is deep, you must remember that light is still in your chest. Even if you are covered in labels, you must hear that whisper: I have my own shape, and I can live gently and solidly.

It is neither right for you to carry the burdens of others, nor is it right for you to fail to carry your own. Relationships are not a zero-sum game. As a conscious being, you can give others space and also protect yourself. You can offer a helping hand to others, but you don’t have to completely empty yourself; you can listen to others’ pain, but you don’t have to take it into your bones and blood. Boundaries aren't cruelty; they are a form of compassion, the respect you give yourself, and the truest opportunity you give to others.

Be like an ancient tree: though its branches stretch out in all directions, its main trunk stays firmly anchored. You must be like that trunk, taking on what’s yours, responding when needed, but you don’t have to be the source for all the other branches. Only then can you stand upright in the storms, only then can you have the energy over time to care for your own small light.

When you clear the snow from your own doorstep, scoop by scoop; when you stop taking on the heavy burdens of others; when you gently pull the deep-buried thorn from your flesh; when you finally recognise that faintest, yet most determined, light in the chaos—you will discover that though life has cold winds, there is warm earth to stand on, and a gentle stirring to honour in your heart.

You don’t have to hate the people who caused you pain, nor do you have to blame yourself for carrying too much. You just need to say gently to yourself: this road is difficult, I will give you my shoulder and my arm, and I’m willing to walk with you. Tomorrow is still long and unknown, but with a bit of courage, a bit of awareness, and a bit of tolerance, you can ensure that your own snow will one day be cleared, and clear light will shine through your window.