There was a time in my 20s when my first response to anything difficult was to pick up the phone.
My sister. My best friend. Sometimes both, in the same evening.
I didn’t think about it; it was just what I did. Something felt heavy, I called them.
I’m 36 now. I still do it, but I find the right time. I wait for a moment when it feels okay to show up with my things.
Because I started noticing how much the other person was already carrying.
And without really deciding to, I began editing myself before I even reached for the phone.
She has enough going on. I’ll manage.
It felt like the considerate thing to do.
What I didn’t notice for a long time was what I’d replaced those calls with.
A full bar of Crackle. Half an extra glass of wine. Doomscrolling and laughing at reels I won’t remember in ten minutes.
Not because I was hungry, or thirsty, or needed entertainment. Just something to do with a feeling I wasn’t letting myself say out loud.
The thing about talking to your people isn’t just that it helps you feel lighter. It’s that someone receives it. They hold it with you for a moment.
And that — the being heard — is what actually helps.
I don’t have a resolution here. I’m still figuring out the balance between not wanting to be a burden and not letting things pile up until they’re too heavy to carry quietly.
Has that happened to you too?
