Pray Eat Slay

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the men in my life. This isn’t a man-bashing post. It’s not about saying all men are bad or that women are somehow better. It’s simply an honest look at how tired I am of constantly proving my worth while carrying responsibilities that don’t seem to belong to me.

Whether it’s work, dating, or even thoughts about my father, I often find myself wondering why I always seem to be the one going the extra mile.

In relationships, I’ve always been the woman who pays attention. I know your favorite order. I notice when you’re stressed. If the restaurant gets your food wrong, I’m the one politely fixing it because I want your experience to be good. I think about the little things because that’s how I show I care. What I struggle with is finding someone willing to put that same energy back into me.

At work, it’s not much different. Two weeks ago, a male counterpart was tasked with creating a centerpiece for an event. It didn’t get done. Two days before the ball, I found myself running around buying flowers, building centerpieces, and making sure we didn’t look unprepared. Not because it was my responsibility, but because I couldn’t stand watching something fail when I knew I could help.

Then there are the moments that happen when no one else is awake. Like the phone call at four o’clock on a Sunday morning telling me a Soldier’s paperwork wasn’t signed and his plane ticket had been canceled. I called five different people trying to fix the situation. Only one person answered. If you guessed it was another woman, you’d be correct.

Sometimes I wonder if this is just who I’ve become. The fixer. The reliable one. The person everyone calls when things go wrong.

The problem is that being dependable comes with a cost.

I’m tired.

Not tired of helping. Not tired of caring. I’m tired of feeling like I have to earn the same level of effort that I freely give to others. I’m tired of being strong all the time. I’m tired of carrying responsibilities that somehow become mine simply because I know they’ll get done if I handle them.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been reflecting on my dad lately. I wonder what he would think if he could see me now. Would he be proud of the woman I’ve become? Or would he tell me to stop carrying everyone else’s weight?

What I want isn’t complicated. I don’t need someone to rescue me. I don’t need grand gestures or fairy tales.

I just want someone to occasionally say, “I’ve got it.”

Let me stay seated while you grab lunch.

Let me be the one who doesn’t have all the answers.

Let me be cared for the same way I care for everyone else.

Because even the strong women get tired.

And sometimes, the woman everyone depends on needs someone she can depend on too.