There’s a kind of heaviness that doesn’t show up in the mirror.
It doesn’t leave bruises.
But it settles in the spirit like fog — silent, stubborn, and suffocating.
That weight is expectation.
Unspoken obligations.
Family roles I never chose… but somehow inherited.
They look to me for wisdom, strength, answers, guidance — even healing.
But when I need softness,
When I reach out for hands to hold mine…
They scatter like smoke.
I’ve become the portal and the protector.
The matriarch before my time.
The soul they circle when they’re lost — but not when they want to celebrate joy.
I love them.
But I am not their emotional landfill.
I will not keep swallowing grief to make space for their comfort.
I am allowed to say: "No more."
There’s a power in choosing yourself.
In drawing sacred boundaries.
In honoring your own cycles, even when the family calls it selfish.
Today, I’m letting go of the need to be their savior.
I am choosing to mother my inner child instead.
She has carried enough.
With love ,
Luna. D
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