In every family, someone gets labeled “the strong one.”
Not because they’re the loudest.
Not because they ask for it.
But because they carry the weight nobody else wants to bear.
In our family, being “strong” meant I got less.
Less praise. Less support. Less space to be human.
And yet, I was the one expected to give more.
Work more. Fix more. Care more. Smile more.
Carrying the Family Quietly
While my younger brother, Deacon, coasted through life—dropping out of college, yet still getting rewarded with a brand-new car “for his potential”—I was working double shifts, putting myself through nursing school, and folding laundry no one ever thanked me for.
