Ah yes, Psalm 23:5. The poetic moment when King David essentially says, “God’s got me so covered, my cup is overflowing.” And for centuries, people have taken that to mean we should all be perpetually selfless, constantly pouring into everyone else’s lives like some divine Brita filter with no off switch.

But let’s pause, shall we? Because I have a few words — no, runneths — for those who weaponize this verse as a guilt trip into martyrdom: It says, “my cup runneth over,” not “I’m here to be drained dry like your emotional support Capri Sun.”

Let’s go back to the Psalm. David’s not saying, “My cup is empty because I gave it all to my toxic coworker, my needy cousin, and the PTA group chat.” Nope. He says his cup runneth over after being led to still waters, having his soul restored, and being fed in the presence of his enemies (aka, the first biblical version of a power lunch).

Translation: He got filled first. Spiritually, emotionally, metaphorically — probably with some wine, too. Who knows, it’s the Bible.

See, we’ve got it backwards. We think we’re being virtuous by running around half-dead, giving, giving, giving — until we’re cranky, resentful, and Googling “passive-aggressive ways to cancel plans.” That’s not abundance. That’s burnout wrapped in a Bible verse.

True abundance — the kind David’s talking about — comes after you’ve been nourished, filled, and cared for. Then the excess, the overflow, the good vibes, that is what you give to others. Not your last drop of sanity.

If your cup is full of peace, joy, and strong boundaries — congrats, your overflow will bless the masses. But if your cup’s full of caffeine, anxiety, and passive resentment because you keep saying yes when you mean “please disappear,” well… guess what everyone else is sipping from?

This isn’t selfish. It’s sacred. Jesus took naps, for heaven’s sake. NAPS. If the Savior of humanity could clock out for some restorative Zs, you can say “no thanks” to that third bake sale this month.

“My cup runneth over” isn’t a call to martyrdom — it’s a permission slip. Fill yourself so fully with goodness, grace, and maybe a touch of petty (it builds character), that your overflow becomes a natural gift to others. Not forced. Not drained. Just… effortless abundance.

So the next time someone hints that you should be doing more, giving more, showing up more, remind them — lovingly, or with a well-timed side-eye — that they aren’t the cup.

They’re the overflow.