Love Nakia

Her name was Simone.

Most people would have described her as strong.

At thirty-eight, she was the oldest daughter who always knew what to do. The wife who remembered birthdays. The mother of two energetic boys who somehow always had clean uniforms and packed lunches. The employee who met deadlines and smiled through meetings. The daughter who checked on everyone else before checking on herself.

Strong.

The word followed her everywhere.

One Tuesday evening, Simone stood in her kitchen staring at a sink full of dishes. The television blared from the living room. One son was asking for help with homework. The other was tugging at her sleeve to show her a drawing. Her phone buzzed with a work email. Her husband was talking about a problem at his job.

“Mom.”

“Mom.”

“Simone.”

Her phone buzzed again.

Something inside her went quiet.

Not angry. Not sad.

Just…quiet.

She looked around the room and suddenly felt as though she couldn’t hear herself think. Everyone needed something. Everyone was touching her. Talking to her. Looking to her.

No one noticed she hadn’t sat down all day.

No one noticed her shoulders ached.

No one noticed she was running on four hours of sleep and coffee.

“Mom, are you listening?”

The question pierced through the noise.

Simone set the dish towel down.

For the first time in years, she didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, she walked past the kitchen, past the living room, and into her bedroom. She closed the door.

Not hard.

Just firmly.

The house continued moving on the other side of it.

For a moment she stood there feeling guilty.

Then she sat on the edge of her bed.

Then she cried.

Not because anything terrible had happened.

She cried because nothing terrible had happened.

She cried because she was tired.

Tired of being the calendar.

Tired of being the reminder app.

Tired of being the family therapist.

Tired of carrying the invisible backpack that nobody else could see.

For fifteen minutes she sat alone in the silence.

When the tears stopped, she heard a small knock.

The door opened slowly.

Her youngest son stepped inside.

“Mom?”

She wiped her face quickly.

“I’m okay, buddy.”

He nodded as if he understood something much bigger than his years.

Then he climbed beside her and leaned against her shoulder without saying a word.

A minute later, her oldest son appeared.

Then her husband.

No questions.

No requests.

No one needed anything.

They just sat there.

For the first time all day, Simone wasn’t the one holding everyone else up.

For a little while, they held her.

Except that was just in her head,

No one came to her side

No one held her the way she needed

The questions continued on the other side of the door

The needs continued on the other side of the door

Her needs were still non factors and still ignored 

By those she loved