Latest / Who’s Your Person?: Friendship, Trust & Belonging / Why You’re Exhausted: The Burden of Being Everyone’s Anchor | Who’s Your Person?
Transcript
- You didn’t just have a bad day; you carried the weight of three other people’s crises before your coffee even got cold. Let’s talk about why your soul feels heavy, and how to put it down. I want you to picture yourself right now. Maybe you’re lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, or maybe you’re driving home in silence, gripping the steering wheel a little too tight. Do you feel that specific kind of tired? Not the kind that comes from running around all day or lifting heavy groceries. No, this is deeper. This is the exhaustion of holding space for everyone else while your own cup runs dry. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately because, well, I know what it’s like to be that person. For years, I was the friend who answered the phone at 2 a.m. because someone else couldn’t sleep. I was the one who remembered everyone’s birthdays, mediated every group chat drama, and absorbed every tear without asking for a single tissue of my own. I thought I was being loyal. I thought I was being good. But I wasn’t realizing that I was building an invisible backpack, and I had packed it full of rocks. And by the time I realized how heavy it was, my shoulders were already bruised. We have this cultural script, don’t we? Especially if you’re a woman, especially if you’re empathetic. We are taught that being 'strong' means being available. It means being the rock. The unshakeable one. The one who doesn’t crack. But here is the truth that hurts to say out loud: there is nothing strong about burning yourself out to keep someone else warm. In fact, it’s incredibly fragile. When you become the emotional anchor for your entire circle, you stop being a person to them and start being a function. You become a utility. And utilities don’t get rest. Utilities don’t get asked how their day was. They just get turned on when something breaks. I remember a friend once told me, 'Eden, you’re so easy to talk to.' At the time, I took it as a compliment. Now, I see it as a warning label. Easy to talk to means easy to dump on. It means I offer no resistance. I absorb the shockwave and make sure the house doesn’t fall down. But eventually, the foundation cracks. And when it does, nobody notices until it’s too late. Let’s sit with that for a second. What did that cost you? Really think about it. Every time you said 'yes' when you meant 'no,' every time you listened to a complaint you’d heard ten times before because you didn’t want to seem unsupportive, every time you swallowed your own frustration to keep the peace—that was a transaction. And you were paying with pieces of yourself. You were trading your energy for their comfort. And I’m not saying you should stop caring. I’m not saying you should become cold or indifferent. That’s not the goal. The goal is balance. The goal is reciprocity. Because friendship isn’t a charity case. It’s a partnership. If you are always the giver and they are always the taker, it’s not friendship anymore. It’s exploitation. And it happens so quietly, so gently, that you don’t even realize you’re being used until you look in the mirror and don’t recognize the tired eyes staring back at you. So why do we do it? Why do we keep picking up those rocks? Is it selfishness? No. It’s fear. It’s the terrified whisper in your head that says, 'If I don’t fix this, if I don’t hold this, they will leave. They will realize I’m not useful, and then they won’t need me.' We confuse availability with love. We think that if we make ourselves endlessly accessible, we are proving our worth. But here is the hard part: real connection doesn’t require your martyrdom. Real friends don’t need you to be perfect. They don’t need you to be always-on. They need you to be real. And you can’t be real if you’re constantly performing stability for everyone else. I had to learn this the hard way. I had a friend who only called me when she was in crisis. Never to share joy, never to ask about my life, just to vent. And I stayed because I was afraid that if I set a boundary, I would lose her. But guess what? She didn’t miss me when I pulled away. She missed the service. She missed the safety net. And that hurt more than anything, because it revealed that our bond was built on my labor, not on mutual care. This week, I want you to try something radical. I want you to practice putting down the weight. It doesn’t mean you cut people off. It doesn’t mean you become distant. It means you start noticing where you are carrying things that aren’t yours. Notice when you answer the phone and immediately shift into 'therapist mode.' Notice when you agree to plans you don’t have the energy for. Notice when you apologize for having feelings of your own. Start small. Next time someone starts dumping their chaos on you, pause. Take a breath. Ask yourself: 'Do I have the capacity for this right now?' If the answer is no, it is okay to say, 'I care about you, but I’m running on empty today. Can we talk tomorrow?' Watch what happens. Will they respect that? Or will they guilt-trip you? Their reaction will tell you everything you need to know about whether this relationship is sustainable. You are allowed to outgrow the version of yourself that exists solely to serve others. You are allowed to take up space. You are allowed to be messy. You are allowed to be tired. And while you’re doing that, I want you to turn that empathy inward. Who is your anchor? Who holds space for you? If you’re struggling to name a person, that’s a signpost. It’s pointing you toward a gap in your life that needs filling. Maybe it’s time to seek therapy. Maybe it’s time to join a group where you can just listen, not lead. Maybe it’s time to learn how to sit with your own discomfort without rushing to fix it for someone else. Solitude is not loneliness. Solitude is where you reconnect with your own voice. When you stop echoing everyone else’s pain, you finally hear your own song. And it might sound rusty at first. You might forget how to sing. But that’s okay. We can learn again. Together. You don’t have to carry the world. You just have to carry yourself. And honestly, that’s heavy enough. So let’s breathe. Let’s drop the bags. Let’s just be here, exactly as we are, without the performance. You are enough, simply because you exist. Not because of what you do for others. Just because you are you. Thank you for letting me into your quiet moments today. I’m so proud of you for showing up for yourself, even if it’s just by listening to this episode. Take care of that beautiful, weary heart of yours. I’ll see you next time.