The Weight I Carry Alone

The Weight I Carry Alone

My husband thinks his little paychecks will cover all our bills.

This morning, I woke up and found out his paycheck this week was $1,300.

Our mortgage alone is $1,600.

Electric is pushing $400.

Groceries? $300 a week.

Gas is creeping toward $5 a gallon.

The math doesn’t just not add up — it doesn’t even come close.

My husband is a diesel mechanic. Not just any mechanic — he works on farm equipment. Tractors, planters, combines, balers… the kind of machines that keep entire operations running. He doesn’t just fix them — he runs them too. He is skilled. He is needed. He is valuable.

But you would never know that by what he’s paid.

On top of his actual job, his boss and his boss’s wife constantly lean on him for everything else. They own multiple rental properties, and somehow, my husband has become the go-to person for all of it.

If the grass needs mowing or weed whacking — he’s there.

If a washing machine breaks — he fixes it.

If there’s a problem with a well — he handles it.

If the power goes out — he hooks up the generator.

If something goes wrong with the boss’s wife’s horse treadmill — yes, even that — he’s expected to fix it.

The list goes on and on.

And still, he gets paid like he’s a teenager working his first job.

He’s 42 years old. He has a family. A home. Responsibilities.

And yet, he won’t speak up.

He avoids the conversation. Won’t ask for a raise. Won’t set boundaries. Won’t stand up and say, “This is what I deserve.” Instead, he shrinks back, afraid to rock the boat, afraid to push too hard.

Meanwhile, I’m drowning in the reality of it all.

This has been an argument for years. The same conversation, over and over, with nothing changing. I’ve reached a point where I don’t even have the energy to fight about it anymore. What’s the point if nothing ever shifts?

So now it feels like it’s on me.

I’m the one paying the bills. I’m the one seeing the numbers. Feeling the pressure. Carrying the anxiety. Every single day.

He goes to work, comes home, and disappears into his barn.

Wake up. Repeat.

But I don’t get to shut it off.

I’m home, holding it all together, trying to manage the stress while still being present for my kids. Trying to act like everything is okay when it’s not. When I feel like I’m constantly on the edge.

I am so tired.

Tired of the cycle.

Tired of the imbalance.

Tired of feeling like I’m the only one carrying the weight of our reality.

And honestly?

I don’t know how much longer I can keep living like this.