Strength

They call me strong
like it's a compliment,
like they don't realize
strength can become a prison.

They see the smile
and mistake it for peace.
They hear,
"I'm fine,"
and never stop to ask
what those words
are holding together.

I'm so tired.

Not the kind of tired
that sleep can fix.

The kind that settles into your bones,
that lives behind your eyes,
that makes you forget
what it feels like
to wake up as yourself.

Every morning
I wake up already behind,
already making lists,
already solving problems
that don't belong to me,
because if I don't,
who will?

I carry calendars in my head
like sacred scripture.

Doctor's appointments.
Practice on Tuesday.
Permission slips.
Dentist next month.
The milk is almost gone.
The dog needs medicine.
Someone's birthday.
Someone's field trip.
Someone forgot their shoes.
Someone needs money.
Someone needs comfort.
Someone needs me.

Always me.

I know everyone's schedule
better than I know
my own heartbeat.

I know everyone's favorite meal,
favorite blanket,
favorite song,
favorite way to be loved.

I can't remember
the last time
I asked myself
what I needed.

Or if I did...

I ignored the answer.

Because there isn't time
for me.

There is only time
for everyone else.

Every night,
I stand in front of the stove,
stirring another dinner
with hands that ache.

Measuring spices.
Checking timers.
Making sure everyone
gets exactly what they wanted.

Only to watch them
push the plate away.

"I don't like this."

"Why didn't you make something else?"

"I already ate."

Hours of love
left growing cold
on the table.

Funny how no one sees
that I was serving pieces
of myself.

No one notices
that I stopped sitting down
to eat years ago.

Some nights
I'm so exhausted
I forget whether
I even had dinner.

Maybe I didn't.

Maybe it didn't matter.

Because everyone else
was fed.

And somehow...

that was supposed
to be enough.

Except it never is.

There is always something
I forgot.

Something I should have done.

Something I should have anticipated.

Someone reminding me
that I could have tried harder.

Done more.

Been better.

As if my love
could somehow be measured
by how completely
I disappear.

People applaud resilience.

They praise sacrifice.

They call you amazing

while handing you
something else to carry.

No one asks
whether your arms
have gone numb.

The truth is...

I'm losing pieces of myself
so quietly
that no one notices
they're gone.

Not even me.

I don't know
who I am anymore.

I remember
there used to be
a woman
before the lists.

Before the laundry.

Before the endless dishes.

Before everyone else's needs
became louder
than my own heartbeat.

She laughed more.

She dreamed.

She had favorite books.

Favorite songs.

Favorite colors.

She wanted things.

I don't know
if she still exists.

Or if I buried her
under grocery receipts,
school forms,
dirty dishes,
unpaid bills,
and everyone else's expectations.

Sometimes
I catch my reflection
and stare.

Not because
I don't recognize the face.

Because I don't recognize
the person living behind it.

And maybe
she doesn't recognize me either.

Every choice I make
becomes someone else's opinion.

Too strict.

Too soft.

Too emotional.

Too cold.

Working too much.

Not working enough.

Cooking the wrong meal.

Parenting the wrong way.

Loving the wrong way.

Existing...

the wrong way.

Everyone has advice.

Everyone has judgment.

Everyone knows
what I should have done—

except the person
who had to make the decision
while carrying
the weight
of an entire household
on shoulders
already breaking.

Then the house grows quiet.

The dishes are done.

The lights go out.

Everyone sleeps.

And that's when
the silence finally speaks.

It finds me
in the dark.

It sits beside me.

The tears come softly now.

Not dramatic.

Not loud.

Just quiet little betrayals
slipping into my pillow
night after night.

The kind no one hears.

The kind that become
part of the bedtime routine.

Brush your teeth.

Lock the doors.

Set the alarm.

Cry quietly enough
that no one wakes up.

Wonder why
you still don't feel
like enough.

Because somewhere along the way,
the voices around you
became the voice
inside your own head.

You should have done more.

You should have been more.

You should have tried harder.

And somehow,
even after giving away
every hour,
every ounce,
every piece of yourself...

you still believe
you've failed.

I'm tired
of being everyone's safe place
while having nowhere
to fall apart.

Tired of carrying
the invisible load
that everyone depends on
but no one acknowledges.

Tired of surviving
instead of living.

Because surviving
isn't living.

It's disappearing slowly
while everyone thanks you
for making it look easy.

Maybe strength
was never supposed
to look like this.

Maybe it was never meant
to mean
breaking quietly
so everyone else
could remain whole.

Maybe the strongest thing
I've ever wanted to say
is the one thing
I've been too afraid
to whisper:

I'm not okay.

I'm tired.

I miss the woman
I used to be.

And I don't know
how to find her again.

So if you see me smiling,
look a little closer.

Because behind these steady hands
is someone
who has spent so long
holding everyone else together

that she's forgotten

what it feels like

to be held.