You can’t always see it—but we carry it. The invisible load. The grief that lingers long after the service ends. The pain that doesn’t show up on scans. The expectations placed on women to be soft, strong, quiet, driven, nurturing, fierce—all at once.
We carry what’s unsaid. We hold space for others while trying to find some for ourselves. We manage the emotions in the room, even when our own are breaking. No one sees the moment before you stand up when your legs ache from yesterday’s battle.
No one sees the silent math of time, energy, and pain that goes into every “yes” or “not today.” But here’s what I’m learning: We’re allowed to name it. We’re allowed to say that the load is heavy. We’re allowed to set it down, even just for a little while. We don’t have to carry everything. Not alone. So if you’re reading this and you feel the weight—please know, you’re not imagining it.
You’re not weak. You’re just tired. And that’s okay. Rest is not failure. And silence doesn’t mean nothing is happening.
Sometimes, healing is invisible too.
