Be Soft With Her Too.

It hurts when the people closest to me call me “too much” or say that I complain a lot, when the truth is… maybe this is the first time I finally have enough courage to say, “I’m tired.”

Because what they are seeing is not my habit. It is my limit.

For years, I held so many things quietly. I tried to understand everyone, to adjust, not to ask for too much help and not to make things harder for anyone.

And maybe because I survived many things silently, people started to think I was fine. They thought I was naturally strong, naturally independent, and naturally capable of handling everything alone.

But I wasn’t. I was just doing what I thought I had to do.

At the same time, they seemed to understand my younger siblings so easily when they couldn’t do something. They gave them room to fail. Room to be scared, to be confused and space to not have everything figured out yet.

There was a moment when someone said to me:

“Be soft with your sister. She is still new to this environment. She doesn’t know many people yet. And financially, she doesn’t have as much capacity as you.”

And a part of me understood. Really, I did.

I am not heartless. I know she needs support. I know what it feels like to be new in a place, to not know many people, to have limited money and still have to figure life out.

I understand her. But another part of me went silent, because the question I couldn’t stop asking myself was:

But when it was me? Where was that softness?

Because I have lived that too. I was also once new to an environment, didn’t know anyone, had less money, scared and overwhelmed. But I was expected to adjust better, to understand faster, to swallow my disappointment and become dependable.

Deep inside, I wanted someone to notice that I was trying my best, not because it was easy, but because no one gave me another choice.

And now, when I finally express my feelings, sometimes it comes out as anger. Not because I want to hurt anyone. But because the pain has been sitting inside my body for too long without a safe place to go.

Sometimes my anger is not anger at all. It is the little girl inside me still wondering why no one came for her.

Maybe that is why it feels so confusing.

I can be so soft, loving, patient, and gentle with someone else. But with my family, even the smallest thing can touch something deep in me.

And I know it’s not because I love them less. Maybe it’s because with them, the wound started. Because with them, I don’t only hear what is being said today. I hear the years behind it. The years where I kept going, even when I wished someone would ask if I was tired too.

I don’t want to be unfair and sound like I am counting everything I have done. But there is a younger version of me who still wants to know:

Why did everyone assume I could carry it all? Why did no one notice that I was scared too? Why did being quiet make them believe I was okay?

I think that is why something inside me still hurts so much. I know this is not about money or wanting to compare who had it harder. It is about watching people understand the same situation differently when it happens to someone else.

When my sibling struggles, people see her limits. But when I struggled, people saw my responsibility.

When she is overwhelmed, people ask me to be gentle. When I was overwhelmed, people asked me to be stronger.

And that kind of difference changes a person. It makes small things feel big. It makes my body react before my mind can explain.

Sometimes I wonder what they see when they look at me. Do they only see my anger and only hear my complaints? And maybe, just once, I want someone to look at me without asking me to be stronger.

To say, “Be soft with her too. She has been trying for a very long time.”