Inward

People like to say that the longer you carry something hard, the easier it gets. That you adjust. That you get stronger. But sometimes it doesn’t get easier at all.

Sometimes the longer you carry a heavy load, the more it wears you down. The tiredness settles in. The heaviness becomes quiet. And you stop talking about it because talking takes energy you don’t have. When you’re that tired, you turn inward without meaning to.

You stop reaching out. You stop asking for help. You just keep going because stopping feels harder. The weight doesn’t get lighter. You just get quieter.

I didn’t realize how far inward I’d gone until someone said something kind about how well I’ve been holding things together. They said this year has been tough and that I’ve kept myself steady. And it hit me that they truly thought I was okay.

They saw the part of me that keeps moving. They didn’t see the heaviness underneath. They didn’t see how tired I am. They didn’t see how much I’ve been carrying. And that’s not on them.

It’s because I haven’t had the energy to let anyone see it. Turning inward wasn’t a choice. It was survival.

I’m not writing this because I’ve figured out how to change anything. I’m writing it because the weight is still heavy, and saying it out loud is the only thing I have the strength for right now.

I’m not Wonder Woman. I’m just a person carrying a lot. And sometimes admitting the heaviness is the only step you can take.