I’m tired.
But not the kind of tired sleep fixes.

I’m tired of carrying the weight—my family’s, my sister’s, even the fears of the men who think themselves strong but crumble when the world doesn’t bow.
I’m tired of absorbing their panic, of holding space when they run, of being the one who catches the shards as everything breaks.

They call me fragile.
They see the softness of my care, the patience in my hands, the way I hold my children close, how I speak gently to the broken-hearted.
They don’t see that every time I bend, it’s because I’m anchoring everyone else.
They don’t see that my willingness to feel isn’t a flaw—it’s the map, the strategy, the quiet, relentless strength they’ll never understand.

They retreat behind their pride and panic.
They call it confidence. I call it cowardice.
Because while they turn their backs and complain about the weight, I’m already holding it—and theirs too.

I’ve become Athena in this quiet war.
I wear the shield of patience, the spear of clarity, the helmet of grace.
But all they see is the woman who stays.
They don’t see the scars I’ve collected in silence, the nights I’ve stayed awake to care for others, the battles I’ve fought in courtrooms, in hospitals, in my own home.

They call it “feminine weakness.”
As if bending to care is a flaw.
As if showing up, feeling deeply, and daring to love in the face of cruelty isn’t the fiercest power there is.

I’m not weak.
I’m the storm that stays.
I’m the shield that absorbs the blow.
I’m the one who names the fear so it can’t consume us.
I’m the hand that steadies a child, a sister, a family, even when my own hands tremble.

They don’t see it—but I do.
I see the quiet courage of choosing to feel.
I see the iron will behind my soft voice.
I see the unbreakable strength in knowing that every time I show up, I’m fighting for them all—even if they’ll never thank me, even if they’ll never understand.

I’m not playing their game.
He plays king, throwing tantrums and breaking pieces.
I play chess—the long game, the quiet moves, the strategy that rebuilds while others fall apart.

I’m not weak.
I’m the reason they’re still standing.
And that’s the truth they’ll never see.