The Exhaustion of Being the Person Everyone Leans On

Three people texted me this week asking if we could talk.

All three needed something. A breakup. Job stress. Family drama.

And I showed up. I always show up.

But you know what’s funny? Not one of them asked how I was doing. Not really.

I didn’t choose this

I became the therapist friend by accident.

Like, one time in college someone was crying and I didn’t know what to do so I just sat there and listened. And then it kept happening. And now I’m 27 and apparently this is just who I am now.

The person people call when they’re falling apart.

Which sounds nice until you realize nobody calls to check if you’re falling apart.

your problems become my problems

Last week my friend spent an hour telling me about her anxiety. Which is fine. I love her.

But then I couldn’t sleep that night because I was worried about her. And the next day at work I kept checking my phone to see if she texted. And by the time she finally did (saying she felt better), I was exhausted.

Nobody tells you that being the listener means carrying other people’s weight around. Like, they get to put it down and walk away lighter. And you’re just standing there holding it.

the loneliest fucking thing

I have so many friends. My calendar is full. People love me.

But I feel completely alone.

Because they love the version of me that has her shit together. The one who gives good advice. The stable one.

They don’t know that version is fake. That I’m barely keeping it together most days.

And I can’t tell them because… what would they do with that information? They’re used to me being fine.

saying no feels impossible

My friend asked if she could call me last night and I was so tired. Like, bone-tired. I’d had a terrible day.

But I said yes anyway. Because what if she really needed me? What if I was the only person she could talk to?

So I stayed on the phone for two hours when all I wanted was to go to bed.

And then I cried after because I’m so tired of being the person who always says yes.

I don’t have an answer here

I don’t know how to stop being this person. I don’t know how to set boundaries without the guilt eating me alive.

I just know I’m tired. Really tired.

And sometimes I wish someone would ask me how I’m doing and actually wait for a real answer.

to the strong friend reading this at 2am: I see you. and you’re allowed to be tired too.