I wrote this year before last, actually, snippets during a chat with a friend from one of my fb groups, and migrated it over from the old site.
Someone told me again that I am one of the strongest women they know, they don’t know how i manage it. I don’t feel strong. I feel fucking weak for not being able to handle all areas of my life on my own with seeming ease. Or even at all. Nobody whom others think of as “strong” feels like they are, and it doesn’t do much good or make them feel good to just tell them you admire them for it.
What would make them feel good is to have some fucking help once in awhile. Someone stand up for them, to have their back so they don’t have to always feel like they’re facing everything alone. Do I need a maid? No, not even someone to help me on any regular basis. Just someone who cares enough about me to help me get this god awful house in some kind of order so that when I look around, I can breathe, and not feel like the weight of its cinder blocks are crushing my lungs.
Stand in front of them once or twice, or stand behind them and shelter them. Because they most often feel the most fragile. They don’t feel ‘strong’; they feel fucking desperate, because they just don’t have any other choice.
Show up to their house, uninvited, do something you can clearly see needs done, wash their fucking dishes. It’s something as simple as that. Pick something, anything you can see needs doing but know they haven’t been able to manage it with everyfuckingthing else weighing them down. See clothes in a pile? Put them in the washer. Are they clean? Folding would help a helluva lot. Help them put those away. Anything at all.
These “strong” people won’t ask you to do shit for them, because they know everyone has burdens, obligations, and deep down, they don’t feel like they’re worth it enough to receive assistance, let alone risk the rejection by asking for what they desperately need. I know I won’t. It’s humiliating enough to know I’m a failure at the most basic of adult functions. Keeping a clean house. This is why I never invite anyone over. I’m too ashamed to let them see.
I look at everything piling up here, and I want to fix it, but I don’t even know where to begin. There’s so much, I don’t know where to start, except start crying from the massive flashing “FAILURE” sign that gets uglier every day. I need help.
I need help.
I need help.
I need help.
And people don’t see it because all they see is the fight, when if they looked closer they would see that it’s just trying to survive and feeling like they’re failing most of the time.
They seem strong because they feel like nobody else stands up to protect them so they have no choice but to do it themselves. And the reward for this is to be called trouble makers, instigators, bitch, cunt, bitter, man hater, bashers, jealous, everything under the sun, and they take it because they don’t have any other option, or they do like I do, and run.
But they are the first to always get in front of someone else, because they know what it feels like to take everything on the chin.
I do not feel strong, I feel desperate, weak and wish to god I wasn’t doing all of this on my own, but I do, because I have to.
-Letters from the turtle shell.