The Woman Who Forgot Herself
What happens when you give everything and keep nothing
There is a woman I know who works six days a week. Tuesday through Sunday. Eight in the morning until eight at night, sometimes later.
She is a nurse. She cares for patients who cannot care for themselves. She holds their hands. She calms their fears. She gives them the attention that their own families sometimes cannot.
She is also a mother. Her child is one and a half years old. They live far apart.
When I asked her about her life, she said something that has not left me since.
You will not understand how hard life is.
I did not argue with her. I did not pretend to understand. But I asked her a question.
When was the last time you gave yourself even five minutes of the care you give to strangers?
She went quiet.
There is a kind of exhaustion that has nothing to do with sleep.
It is the exhaustion of always being needed. Of waking up not for yourself, but for the list of people waiting. Of measuring your worth by how much you can carry for others.
This woman carries so much. Patients who depend on her. A child she aches to hold. Bills that do not stop. A body that keeps moving because stopping feels like failure.
And somewhere along the way, she stopped asking what she needs. The question itself became a luxury she could not afford.
I have met many people like her.
The friend who always listens but never shares her own troubles. The father who works three jobs and calls it love. The colleague who volunteers for every task because saying no feels selfish.
They are the ones we admire. The ones we call strong. The ones we lean on without noticing they are bending.
But I have learned something. A bridge that carries too much weight eventually cracks. Not from weakness. From being asked to hold more than anything should hold alone.
Seneca wrote that we are often generous with what costs us nothing and stingy with what matters most.
We give our time to strangers. Our patience to colleagues. Our energy to tasks that will be forgotten by next week.
And to ourselves? We give the scraps. The leftover minutes. The attention that remains after everyone else has taken their share.
We call this dedication. But sometimes it is something else. Sometimes it is the belief, buried so deep we do not even see it, that we do not deserve the same care we offer others.
I told her what I have been learning for myself.
Your mind and your heart need you too. Not just your patients. Not just your child. You.
Talk to yourself. Ask what your mind wants. Ask what your heart needs. Be for them, even for five minutes a day.
She listened. I do not know if she will remember. But I planted the seed.
There is a practice I have started.
When the day feels heavy, when I have given more than I thought I had, I stop. I place a hand on my chest. And I speak to myself the way I would speak to someone I love.
You have done enough today. You are allowed to rest. You do not have to earn your right to breathe.
It feels strange at first. We are not taught to speak to ourselves this way. We are taught to push through, to give more, to measure our worth by our usefulness.
But I am learning that the kindest thing I can do for others is to not destroy myself in the process of helping them.
To the woman who works six days a week. Who lives far from her child. Who holds the hands of strangers while her own hands remain empty.
I see you. I do not understand your life. But I see you.
And I hope, one day, you give yourself the same tenderness you give to everyone else.
Even five minutes. Even one breath. Even just the question: What do I need right now?
That is enough to begin.
From the journey of turning scars into stars.
Reflection for you, reader:
When was the last time you asked yourself what you actually need?
Who in your life carries so much that they have forgotten to ask for help?
What would change if you treated yourself as someone worth caring for?
A song about holding someone through the hard times. But also, perhaps, a reminder that you cannot carry others forever if no one is carrying you.