Friend of Mine – She held everyone else’s pain. Until it crushed her spine.
She sat across from the broken—
Four sessions before noon.
Four more after lunch.
All of them bleeding.
All of them her job to patch up.
She listened.
She nodded.
She held space.
Even when her own insides were collapsing.
She didn’t flinch when they cried.
But she cried, later.
In her car.
Engine running.
Face in hands.
She was good at her job.
But the job wasn’t good for her.
Rent went up.
Her caseload doubled.
Insurance reimbursements shrank.
Her own therapist became a luxury item.
So she stopped going.
And kept showing up.
She taught people how to cope.
How to breathe.
How to function.
While quietly forgetting how to do any of that herself.
Until her body gave out.
Chronic back pain from sitting in a chair
too many hours
for too many years
carrying too many stories
in a spine not built for this weight.
She applied for disability.
They said she didn’t look disabled.
She applied for help.
They said, “You’re the helper.”
She said nothing after that.
She’s still somewhere in the system.
Filing claims.
Breathing quietly.
And praying her next client doesn’t notice
she hasn’t healed anything
in months.
