The Celebration of Drowning

I spent a lot of time managing more than I could comfortably carry. Somehow, the thing people seemed to notice most was how well I was managing it all.

People had plenty of kind things to say about my strength, my ability to show up, and how much I was able to handle. I was often reminded of how strong I was, how dependable I was, and how admirable it was that I could keep going despite everything happening around me.

But there was a disconnect between what people saw and what I was actually experiencing. I wasn't doing nearly as well as everyone seemed to think.

At that point in my life, there was a lot happening within my family, and I found myself carrying responsibilities that extended far beyond my own. Between grief, family matters, and the ongoing needs of the people around me, there was always something that needed my attention. 

People don't understand what it's like to be grieving while still having to be functional for everyone else. You don't always get the opportunity to sit with your feelings because there are things that need your attention. There are people who need you. There are phone calls to make and decisions to figure out.

And before you know it, you're so busy making sure everyone else is okay that you haven't even considered whether you are.

Looking back, I don't think people understood how overwhelmed I actually was. Or maybe they did, but because I continued to show up, they assumed I was managing just fine.

There is a responsibility that comes with being the person everyone calls when something needs to be handled, and it doesn't always leave room for you to have your own needs, your own feelings, or even a bad day.

You don't get to fall apart because there are still things that need to be done. There are appointments to coordinate, decisions to make, people to check on, and situations that don't pause simply because you're overwhelmed.

I've often thought about how little permission I've had to simply be the daughter. Not in childhood and certainly not in adulthood. There have been times when I needed to grieve, to be cared for, or to have someone else figure things out. But that wasn't how things worked in my family dynamic. Somehow, I was still expected to be the one who could manage.

And I did. For a long time, I did.

I showed up. I made the calls. I helped coordinate things. I tried to make sure everyone was okay. I did what I thought I was supposed to do, even when I wasn't sure how much more I had to give.

And when I finally said that I was tired, people gave a very different reaction.

What I find difficult to reconcile is that people could recognize how much I was doing. They could compliment me for it. They could tell me how strong I was and how much they admired my ability to handle everything. But where was that same recognition when it came to asking whether I needed help?

I wish someone had been as concerned about how much I was carrying as they were impressed by how much I could handle.

Because praise doesn't take anything off your plate. It doesn't take phone calls, coordinate the appointments, offer you a break, or give you permission to step away.

For years, being available and dependable had become part of how people understood me. So when I started setting boundaries, making different decisions, and choosing not to participate in certain family dynamics, that version of me didn't seem to be as well received.

Suddenly, the conversations were different.

There were reminders about family obligations. Comments about what I should do, what I owed, and how I should respond. There were people who felt comfortable telling me that I should reach out, that I should be more understanding, or that I should remember the circumstances surrounding my family.

What I found interesting was that many of the people who had something to say about what I should be doing weren't offering to take anything off my hands.

No one was volunteering to step in and handle the responsibilities they were reminding me about. No one was offering to share the weight. Yet there seemed to be plenty of opinions about what I should continue doing.

And that was difficult.

I don't think choosing yourself should require a lengthy explanation, especially when you've spent years making sure everyone else has what they need. But sometimes it feels as though people are more comfortable with your sacrifice than they are with your boundaries.

They appreciate the version of you who makes things easier for everyone else. They understand the version of you who shows up, accommodates, and figures things out. But when you begin to make decisions that don't center everyone else's needs, the same people who once praised your strength question your character.

It's a strange thing to experience.

I have spent a lot of time thinking about the difference between being loved, being appreciated, and being needed. Those things are not necessarily interchangeable. And being needed by people doesn't automatically mean they understand what their expectations are costing you.

I also recognize that not every person who praised me knew what was happening behind closed doors. Some people probably genuinely believed I was doing well. Others may have simply grown accustomed to seeing me manage difficult situations. But regardless of their intentions, the result was the same: I was drowning. 

I don't believe that being a good daughter, sister, friend, or family member means making yourself endlessly available. I don't believe that loving people requires you to abandon your own needs. And I don't believe that someone has to reach a breaking point before they're allowed to establish boundaries.

I spent a long time being recognized for how much I could manage. What I needed wasn't another reminder of how strong I was. I needed room to be human, too.

And sometimes, the kindest thing you can do for someone isn't to tell them how strong they are.

It's to help.