The Weight She Carries

She did not notice when it began.

The carrying.

At first, it was practical.

A list here.

A reminder there.

A quiet awareness of who needed what, and when.

She was good at it.

Reliable.

Capable.

The one who could be counted on.

So she carried more.

Not just tasks, but feelings.

Expectations.

The unspoken responsibility for keeping everything… steady.

And because she carried it well, no one thought to ask if it was heavy.

Including her.

Until one day, it was.

Not dramatically.

Not all at once.

Just a quiet sense that her mind was full…and her shoulders were tired.

She wondered, briefly, if she was losing her mind.

But this was not loss.

It was awareness.

The kind that arrives in midlife and whispers,

You were never meant to hold all of this alone.

And in that whisper, something shifted.

Not the load.

Not yet.

But her relationship to it.

Sally x

Sally Somerton - Island Writer

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