THE word “help” used to mean something simple – a gesture extended from one human to another. It implied kindness, sincerity and goodwill. But today, the meaning has become hazy.
Help has been rebranded, repackaged and in some cases monetised beyond recognition. Recently, a message made its rounds: a seemingly heartfelt invitation to a “special session”, promising to help others grow and succeed.
It began warmly, speaking of purpose and shared journeys. Yet, by the end, the offer of help had quietly transformed into a sales pitch. It wasn’t the price tag that stood out; it was the misplaced meaning of the word help.
The word “help” was used generously throughout. But what it really meant was: sell. This is not an isolated example; it reflects a wider trend – the commodification of care and the dilution of sincerity.
We live in an age where the language of help is often used as bait, masking profit motives under a polished veneer of empathy. And while there is nothing wrong with being paid for expertise, the problem begins when help becomes a transaction disguised as compassion.
Many of us are taught to give back – to mentor, guide and lift others as we rise. But the moment help is tied to conversion rates and limited-time offers, it loses its essence. True mentorship demands patience, reciprocity and presence. It cannot be packaged into a two-hour webinar promising overnight transformation.
What this does, over time, is create mistrust. It feeds the cynicism that makes people second-guess every offer of assistance. It erodes the emotional fabric of our professional and personal communities. When everything has a price tag, sincerity becomes a rare commodity and people begin to guard themselves against disappointment.
In the mental health field, we often talk about emotional safety – the feeling that someone is genuinely there for you, without agenda or judgement. The same principle applies in professional ecosystems. Psychological safety emerges when help is authentic – when someone gives time, guidance or knowledge, not for personal gain but for the collective good.
Authentic help begins with alignment – between intention and action, between words and values. If the intent is to uplift, the action must reflect empathy, not exploitation.
Real help asks: “How can we grow together?” and not “What can I gain from this?”
In leadership, alignment is what differentiates mentors from marketers. Leadership is not about titles; it is about influence. And all of us lead in some way – whether in our homes, workplaces or communities.
When values are misaligned, when compassion becomes a branding strategy rather than a lived principle, something inside us feels off. That unease is what psychologists call dissonance: the inner conflict between what we hear and what we sense to be true. You can sense it in the tone, the urgency, the subtle shift from invitation to persuasion. True leadership is felt, not advertised. It draws people through integrity, not incentive.
And the truth is, people can feel when they are being sold a dream. The body recognises the discomfort long before the mind rationalises it. It is the tightening in your chest when someone says, “I just want to help you succeed… for only RM10,000.”
Disguised help takes an invisible toll on the psyche; it preys on insecurity
and aspiration – on the human need to belong, to improve and to be seen.
For professionals, especially those in early growth stages, such offers can stir anxiety and self-doubt: Am I not good enough? Maybe I need this programme to succeed. This is the subtle manipulation of modern marketing, using vulnerability as a lever for conversion. And that is where ethical lines blur.
Of course, there is nothing wrong with earning through one’s skills. Money, in itself, is not the enemy of authenticity; it is the intent behind the offer that defines integrity.
When expertise is priced transparently and delivered with sincerity, it empowers others. When the same promise is framed as “help”, yet hides commercial motives, it erodes trust. The difference lies not in the transaction but in the truth beneath it.
If someone is truly committed to helping others grow, they will create access, not dependency. They will build capacity, not capitalise on confusion.
The real teachers and mentors I have known rarely lead with a price tag. They lead with purpose, clarity and presence, and their impact lasts long after the session ends.
Perhaps it is time to reclaim the word “help” – to strip it of pretense and restore its integrity. Real help doesn’t require a countdown timer or a “limited seat” tagline; it thrives in spaces where there is mutual respect and shared learning.
As professionals and humans, we must learn to pause before offering or accepting help, and to ask:
Is this aligned with my values?
Does it feel authentic or does it feel transactional?
Who truly benefits? Is the support creating shared growth or reinforcing dependency?
Would I still offer this help if there were no immediate returns? This is the test of intention.
When help comes from a place of genuine service, it leaves both the giver and receiver lighter, not indebted. It uplifts without trapping.
Growth doesn’t always need to be monetised. Some of the most powerful forms of progress happen in conversations, collaborations and communities that are driven by authenticity. When we choose to grow together, to share knowledge without exploitation, we create ecosystems of trust.
The irony is, this kind of growth is also the most sustainable. It nurtures goodwill, strengthens networks and cultivates resilience – the very qualities that money can’t buy.
So, the next time someone offers to help you succeed – pause and listen not just to their words but to their intent because in a noisy world full of offers and “opportunities”, the most radical act of authenticity may simply be to help without an agenda.
Dr Praveena Rajendra is a certified mental health and awareness practitioner specialising in narcissistic abuse recovery.
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