‘You don’t always have to pick up all the pieces, bub,’ he said.
My mind stopped mid conversation. What? That statement hit like a tonne of bricks. “I feel obligated to pick up all the pieces,” I replied. “Not just my own, but those of everyone around me.” I sensed it was a role I had been playing for most of my life. The problem solver. The advice giver. The carrier of burdens. The helper. The fixer.
I imagined for a moment what it could be like to remove that hat. Relief washed over me. I imagined the freedom. I don’t always have to pick up all the pieces. What would that even look like?
An age-old story popped her head up… “If you don’t, who will?” “Everything will fall apart.” “That’s not safe.”
Not a story. A reality growing up. I was the one who created calm amidst chaos. It was my role. Looking back, a rather gargantuan responsibility for a child to carry. Looking now, a rather exhausting responsibility for an adult to carry.
What if I hung that hat up? What would happen? Would everything really fall apart?
A part of me is excited at the prospect of not feeling like I have to carry that weight anymore.
