Hey ladies,
It's been a tough two weeks.
This week I stopped on the side of the road again.
There had been an accident, and a stranger needed help. It was the third time in three months I have stopped like this. Each accident is progressively getting worse in terms of injuries.
I did what being a medic, then a nurse, then twenty-one years in the Army trained me to do. I stayed. I steadied what I could. I held the scene together until help arrived.
And then I did something I have never done.
I went home.
I did not push through. I did not finish the day like nothing happened. I let my husband hold what I was carrying, and I sat down.
And if we are reading this alone, let’s be clear: being cared for does not require a husband. That same day, my sister held me through the phone. Three strangers held each other in a prayer when EMS arrive.
Care can be anyone who lets us stop being the strong one for an hour.
And if we do not know who that is yet, that is not a flaw in us. It is part of why we gather.
When I called my sister, I told her the truth.
It’s too much.
And she said two things I have not been able to put down since.
Maybe it’s time to stop traveling the same road.
Profound and literal.
And then she said:
You’ve done enough.
Some of us have been waiting our whole lives to hear that sentence.
The road where we are always the first to stop, the first to steady everyone, the last to be asked how we are, that road has no finish line on it. Somebody has to tell us we can exit.
So let me be your sister today:
You’ve done enough.
This week, we are thinking about life.
What is working?
What is not?
What are we holding onto because it looks like the safe choice, when it may be costing us more than it protects?
What if we rerouted?
Set it down, sis.
With breath,
Sahavit