Last week my bathroom sink clogged and I could not figure out why. I spent an entire hour on the floor taking it apart, with no manual by the way, trying to get to the bottom of what the hell was going on.
Sitting there, surrounded by pipes and gunk, I could not help but think, D*mn it, here I go again. Mrs. Fix It.
If something breaks, I fix it. If something goes wrong, I figure it out. If something is heavy, I carry it. That is just what I do. I have been doing it for as long as I can remember. For a long time, I told myself it was strength. It was independence. It was pride.
But lately, I have been noticing something. It is also a pattern. A habit. Somewhere along the way, I learned to be the one who handles things. The one who does not wait. The one who does not ask. The one who just deals with it. Always.
Sitting there on the floor, I caught myself thinking, This is a man’s job. Why am I doing this? Not because I cannot. I clearly can. But because I am tired. Tired of always being the one who does.
And it made me think about everything else. All the broken things I have patched, all the messes I have cleaned up, all the problems I have solved quietly, without anyone noticing, without waiting for anyone to step in. I realized I am capable. I am reliable. I am strong. But maybe being strong all the time is not exactly what I want.
I do not want to be helpless. I do not want to be saved. I just do not want to live in a life where I am always the fixer. I want to exist in a life where someone else notices sometimes. Where someone steps in and takes something off my plate before I even ask.
Fixing the sink did not teach me anything about plumbing. It taught me something else.
It taught me that I do not want to spend the rest of my life fixing everything alone.
Love ya, BYE!
Tee Talk 