The other morning I was sitting at my computer with a fresh cup of coffee, answering messages and trying to get a little work done when Sir Kit Kat decided he’d had enough. Up onto the desk he came, walked directly across my keyboard like he owned the place, and then flopped himself down right where my hands were supposed to be. Apparently emails weren’t nearly as important as giving him attention. I laughed because he does this all the time. It’s almost like he has an internal timer that goes off when I’ve been sitting too long. As I reached over to pet him, I realized my shoulders were so tight they actually hurt. My first thought was, “Well… that’s just part of getting older.” Then I caught myself. Maybe it wasn’t my age. Maybe it was everything I’d been carrying around that nobody else could see.

When people hear the words “carrying too much,” they probably think about busy schedules or overflowing calendars. My mind goes somewhere completely different. Stress. Strokes. That’s honestly the first thing that pops into my head because I’ve lived it. I used to think stress was just something you pushed through. You kept smiling, kept helping everyone else, kept saying, “I’m fine,” even when you weren’t. Looking back now, I wish I had understood sooner what stress can really do to a person. It doesn’t just make you tired. It has a way of creeping into every corner of your life until your body finally says, “Enough.” Mine certainly did, and if there’s one thing that experience taught me, it’s that carrying too much has consequences whether we choose to believe it or not.

The funny part is, most of the things weighing me down over the years weren’t even mine to carry. If someone I loved was hurting, I wanted to fix it. If they were struggling, I wanted to make everything better. That’s just who I am, and honestly, I hope I never lose that part of myself. I like that I care deeply about people. The problem was I cared about everyone else so much that I forgot to leave anything for myself. I spent years trying to keep people happy, smoothing things over, pretending I was okay because I didn’t want anyone worrying about me. That’s exhausting. Add grief into the mix, throw in chronic pain, worries about the future, responsibilities that seem to multiply overnight, and before long you’re carrying a backpack so full you don’t even remember what it feels like to stand up straight.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much has changed over the past year. My expectations of people have changed. My expectations of myself have changed too. I used to expect everyone to love the way I love, to show up the way I show up, and I carried a lot of disappointment when they didn’t. These days I’ve realized not everyone is capable of giving what I need, and that’s okay. It doesn’t make them bad people, and it doesn’t make me wrong for wanting more. It just means I’ve had to learn one of the hardest lessons of my life… boundaries. Funny enough, counselling has helped me see that more than anything. Sometimes we spend half the session talking about Sir Kit Kat or something completely random, and you might think, “How is this helping?” But somehow those little conversations always find their way back to the things that really matter. Healing doesn’t always happen through tears. Sometimes it sneaks in through laughter, stories about cats, or a conversation you didn’t even realize you needed.

One thing younger Shelly would probably never believe is that I’m actually sticking to my boundaries now. Oh, I’m still learning, and I’m definitely not perfect at it, but I’m getting better. I’ve also stopped apologizing quite so much for simply being me. If you like me, wonderful. If you don’t, that’s okay too. I’m not saying that to be rude. I’m saying it because I’ve finally realized I can’t spend my whole life twisting myself into someone else’s version of who they think I should be. That’s a battle nobody wins. I’d much rather spend my energy becoming the person God created me to be than chasing everyone’s approval. It has taken me a long time to understand that, and some days I still need the reminder.

As I finally gave up on pretending I was going to get any more work done and scratched Sir Kit Kat behind the ears, I couldn’t help but smile. Maybe that’s exactly why he jumped on my keyboard in the first place. Maybe he wasn’t interrupting me at all. Maybe he was reminding me to stop carrying the world for a few minutes. I’m still carrying grief, and I probably always will. I’m still carrying chronic pain, and there are days when it wins. There are still moments when I wonder what tomorrow will bring. But I’ve noticed something lately. The backpack doesn’t feel quite as heavy anymore. Not because life suddenly became easier, but because I’m finally learning that I don’t have to fill it with everyone else’s stuff too. And honestly… I think that’s one of the strongest things I’ve ever done.

Until next time, remember this…

Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass… it’s about learning to dance in the rain.

Stay kind.
Stay grateful.
And always remember… YOU Matter!

With love,

Shelly 💜