Always the Host, Never the Guest: When Generosity Stops Feeling Mutual”

You know that feeling when you realize you’ve been the one holding the door open for everyone else… but no one’s ever opened it for you?

Yeah. That’s me. Always the host. Never the guest.

There’s a certain kind of fatigue that comes from being the person whose home everyone flocks to.

The place where the chairs remember the same people, where the air smells like something I’ve just pulled from the oven, and where family and friends—real friends, not clients or strays—know they’ll always be fed and welcomed.

I love it.

Cooking is how I show love. It’s my language, my therapy, my truce with the chaos of the world.

But lately, I’ve noticed something about this endless circle of hospitality—it’s not mutual.

For over thirty years, we’ve opened our home. Family, close friends, people we actually know.

I don’t serve alcohol, there’s no show, no “chef performance.”

Just comfort. Conversation. And food made with intention.

And still—somehow—I’ve never been invited into most of their homes.

Not once. Not for dinner, not for lunch, not even for tea.

“Let’s get together soon,” they’ll say.

“Perfect,” I reply. “Your place this time?”

They smile. They nod.

And then—silence.

The kind that hangs in the air longer than garlic on your fingers.

At first, I laughed it off. Maybe they think I’d critique their cooking.

But come on—if I didn’t pay for it, I don’t critique it. That’s the rule.

You could hand me toast and I’d thank you like you just plated fine dining.

So what is it? Are they worried I’ll notice a messy counter?

Please. I’ve worked in kitchens after the dinner rush.

There’s nothing you can show me that’ll make me flinch.

And yet, the pattern stays the same. People love coming here, but they never return the invitation.

Maybe they just assume I prefer to host.

Maybe they think it’s “my thing.”

Or maybe they’ve just gotten comfortable letting me be the one who always makes it happen.

But here’s the truth I’ve had to sit with:

I miss being invited.

Not out of pride or curiosity—just the simple human want to be welcomed.

To sit on someone else’s couch, to see their version of “home,” to be served for once instead of serving.

So I’ve made a quiet change.

If someone wants to see us, it won’t be here anymore.

We’ll go to their place—or to a restaurant they choose—and they can pick up the tab.

Not out of pettiness, but balance.

I still love hosting. That’ll never change.

But even the most generous heart needs reciprocity.

Sometimes the kindest thing you can do for someone who gives freely… is to give back.

A simple invitation. A plate of something.

A seat at your table that says, “You matter enough to be welcomed.”

So if you’re listening to this and thinking, oh no, I have a friend like that, maybe this is your cue.

Text them. Invite them over.

They don’t care if it’s takeout or toast. They just care that you thought of them.

Because in the end, hospitality isn’t about perfect meals or spotless counters.

It’s about the grace of being welcomed… and knowing you don’t always have to be the one holding the door open.

Have you ever been the “forever host” in your circle?

Leave me a comment, share your story, or better yet—invite someone over.

I promise, they won’t judge your dishes.