What you want, when nobody is asking, is to be the safe place. You want somebody to arrive at their worst — ashamed, wrecked, unlovable by their own reckoning — and to find that you do not withdraw. You want love to be the thing you are actually made of, and you want it to have visibly helped somebody, not in theory but in the specific case of one difficult person.
What feeds this is presence given freely and boundaries kept honestly. Sitting with someone through a bad year without trying to conclude it. Teaching. Raising. Work in which your warmth is the instrument, and a life of your own to return to afterwards.
The counterfeit is sainthood. Being the one who absorbs everything is faster and more flattering than being loved as an ordinary person, so you may take on suffering you were never asked to carry and let the role stand in for intimacy.
Unfed, or fed on martyrdom, you empty out and it turns to hidden judgement — a private contempt for the people you are helping that horrifies you when you notice it. That is the signal to stop, be cared for, and be a person again before you are a shelter.
This is one number in one position. Cast your full reading to see how it sits with the rest of your chart — every figure shown, free.