Last summer, I was at Home Depot loading bags of mulch into my trunk.
A young guy walked by and asked,
“Do you need help?”
I said no.
(Of course I did.)
But here’s the part that’s been sitting with me since:
At least he asked.
Because the women I work with,
the ones who show up in my office exhausted, overwhelmed, holding everything together,
they don’t even have that.
Not because people are cruel.
Not because no one cares.
But because when you look like you have it together,
when you’ve been the capable one for so long,
when you’re always the person others lean on,
People stop asking if you need help.
They assume you don’t.
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Connecting the dots
A few months ago, I wrote about building your support system, about reaching out, finding your people, taking brave steps toward connection.
If you want to catch up, you can read it here.
And many of you replied with something that stopped me in my tracks:
“But Moya… what if there’s no one to reach out to?”
What if the people around you are tapped out?
What if you are the person everyone else is leaning on?
What if you’ve tried, and the support just isn’t there?
For some of you, it’s not just partners or friends.
It’s your kids, too.
Sometimes they’re more considerate of their dad than they are of you.
They think to check on him.
They give him more grace.
And that can hurt in a way that’s hard to admit out loud.
Not because your kids don’t love you, they do.
But because moms are expected to do more.
To hold more.
To bend more.
You become the safe place.
The default parent.
The one who absorbs it all.
And when no one checks on you, it can feel incredibly lonely.
Reflect for a moment:
When was the last time someone checked on you without you having to ask, and what did that bring up in your body?
This week is for you.
I write this newsletter for a small, thoughtful group of women who get it,
the ones who don’t need platitudes or fixing,
just language for what they’re actually living.
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Surrounded by people and still alone
She has a partner.
She has kids.
She has friends, coworkers, a full life.
And she is still carrying everything by herself.
Not because she refuses help.
But because there’s no one offering.
Or worse —
the people around her are there, but they’re leaning on her too.
So she becomes:
• The one everyone calls when they’re falling apart
• The one who holds space for everyone else’s stress
• The one who shows up for others while quietly drowning
And when she finally admits she’s struggling?
The response is often some version of:
“But you’re so strong.”
“You always handle everything.”
“I didn’t think you needed anything.”
Translation: I didn’t see you because you made it look easy.
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The invisible cost of appearing capable
Here’s what no one tells you about being “the strong one”:
People stop checking on you.
Not because they don’t care —
but because competence is invisible.
When you’re managing everything quietly,
when you’re not falling apart out loud,
when you keep showing up even when you’re empty,
You become part of the infrastructure.
The person everyone depends on, but nobody thinks to support.
And the cruel irony?
The better you get at holding it together,
the lonelier it becomes.
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So what do you do when there’s no one to ask?
I wish I had a clean answer.
I wish I could say, “Just communicate your needs clearly!”
But I know that doesn’t work when:
• Your partner is overwhelmed too
• Your friends are in their own survival mode
• Your family doesn’t get it
• Asking feels like burdening
So here’s what I’ll say instead:
You’re not failing because you’re doing it alone.
You’re surviving.
And survival doesn’t always look like thriving.
Sometimes it looks like getting through the day.
Sometimes it looks like doing the bare minimum.
Sometimes it looks like crying in your car before you go inside.
That’s not weakness.
That’s carrying weight no one else can see.
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One small shift for this week
If asking for help isn’t an option right now,
here’s what you can do:
Stop asking yourself to do it perfectly.
I know you’re holding a lot.
I know you don’t have backup.
I know you’re doing the work of three people.
So this week — just this week —
let one thing be mediocre.
Not everything.
Just one thing.
Maybe dinner comes from a box.
Maybe the laundry stays in the basket.
Maybe you say no to something you’d normally push through.
Not because you’re giving up.
But because doing it imperfectly is better than breaking under the weight of doing it perfectly alone.
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If you need a place to land
If you’re reading this and realizing,
“I don’t even remember the last time someone asked if I was okay” —
I’m asking now.
Are you okay?
You don’t have to answer me.
You don’t have to have it figured out.
But I need you to hear this:
You’re not meant to carry this much alone.
And if the people around you can’t see that right now,
it’s not because you’re doing something wrong.
It’s because you’ve gotten so good at surviving
that they forgot you’re still human.
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When there’s no one to turn to, turn here
Here’s what I know to be true:
When there’s no one to ask,
when the people around you are tapped out,
when you’re holding everyone else together,
Your thoughts still need a place to land.
That’s why I created The 5-Minute Overwhelm Reset Journal.
Not as another self-care task.
Not as a productivity tool.
But as a place for the part of you that’s been carrying everything alone
to finally set something down.
It’s not:
• A gratitude journal (you don’t need more toxic positivity)
• A planner (you already know what needs to get done)
• Another self-care checklist (you’re already doing too much)
It is a place for:
• The thoughts you can’t say out loud
• The anger you’re not allowed to feel
• The exhaustion no one else sees
It’s $12.
It’s instant access.
And it’s there if you need it.
Because even if there’s no one else holding space for you right now,
I’m holding it here.
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One last thing
You’re not invisible to me.
I see how much you’re carrying.
I see how long you’ve been doing it without backup.
I see how exhausted you are behind the smile.
And I’m here.
Every Tuesday.
One story.
One tool.
One reminder that you’re not alone,
even when it feels like you are.
If this felt heavy to read, that makes sense — you weren’t meant to carry it quietly.
— Moya
PS: If this landed, hit reply and tell me: When was the last time someone checked on you without you having to ask? I really want to know.