A letter that lands

A sample letter. Invented brief, nobody real. The shape is what I do.

I'm not going to ask how you're doing. You'll lie, and you're a terrible liar when you're tired.

You're the one they all lean on. The midnight calls. The money that quietly moves from your pocket to someone else's. The “you're so good at staying calm,” said like calm was something you were born with instead of something you perform every day with your jaw set. You hold doors for everyone. Nobody thinks to hold one for you, not because they don't love you, but because you never once look like you need it.

Here is the thing I need you to hear: you don't have to earn the rest. You don't have to fall down first. You're allowed to want help before you're drowning. That's not weakness. It's information. Every honest person who has ever loved you would rather hear it now than find out later what it cost you to keep quiet.

I see the work nobody claps for. I see you answer the phone with your own life on fire and ask about theirs first.

So put it down. Not forever, I know you. One hour tonight. Let somebody else be the roof.

You are allowed to be held.