When I Finally Stopped Carrying Everyone

When I Finally Stopped Carrying Everyone

by Nicole Roth

For years, I carried everyone. I remembered every birthday, every appointment, every quiet sigh that meant someone needed me. I was the one who held it all together, the one they called, the one who fixed, the one who soothed.

I loved my family with everything I had. To me, love always meant doing. So I did. I gave and gave until I could feel myself thinning at the edges.

Then one morning, sitting on the edge of my bed, I felt something shift. It wasn’t exhaustion this time. It was a quiet ache in my chest, like my soul whispering, “You don’t have to carry it all anymore.”

But letting go hasn’t been easy. It’s been a slow, uneven process, two steps forward, one step back. My self-worth had been woven into being the caregiver, the fixer, the one who kept everything moving. When that began to unravel, it felt like losing a part of myself.

There were mornings when I missed the rush, the constant purpose of everyone needing me. There were evenings when sadness washed through, grief, really, for all the years I defined myself through doing. Sometimes guilt crept in, whispering that stepping back meant I was failing as a mother, a wife, a woman.

I think a lot of women know that place. The hockey moms, the lunch moms, the wives holding down the fort while their husbands work away in the oil fields. The ones who keep the house running, the meals warm, the love steady. We’re taught that our value lives in what we give, how much we do, how well we hold it all together.

So when we begin to pull back, it shakes everything. Family notices. Some resist.
“You’ve changed.”
“You used to care more.”
“Why are you so distant?”

Their reactions sting. The guilt rises. And yet, somewhere deeper, we know it’s necessary. Their discomfort isn’t cruelty. It’s unfamiliarity. The system is shifting. We’re no longer holding it all, and they’re learning to stand on their own.

What’s helped me is slowing down. Breathing before reacting. Letting myself feel the sadness instead of pushing it away. Journaling through the waves of guilt. Walking, moving, crying when I need to. Sometimes, I place a hand on my heart and remind myself, “They are safe. I am safe. Love doesn’t disappear, it simply takes a new shape.”

Letting go isn’t cold; it’s courageous. It asks us to trust the love we’ve already poured into them. It asks us to rebuild a relationship with ourselves, the woman beyond the roles.

When I look back, I know I’ve raised my children with values that matter. I’ve taught them to be kind, respectful, and thoughtful. To say “thank you.” To look people in the eyes. To care about others. I’ve taught them that manners and gratitude carry more power than ego ever could.

I’ve always wanted my children to be the kind of people others enjoy being around, because they bring light, warmth, and empathy wherever they go. I’ve raised them to understand that life isn’t all about them, that real strength shows up as humility, and that respect is everything.

I wanted to raise humans with heart. Not perfect, but kind. Not entitled, but grounded. Not self-absorbed, but awake to the world around them. That’s success to me.

And even though stepping back can feel like losing part of my identity, I know it’s actually expanding it. The love I’ve poured into my family doesn’t fade when I give myself room to breathe, it grows stronger. It roots deeper.

So I take it one day at a time. Some days I slip back into old habits, and that’s okay. I just notice it and begin again. Other days, I feel peace returning, quiet and steady, like sunlight through the curtains.

This is what real letting go looks like, not a clean break, but a gradual coming home.

And slowly, as the space clears, something beautiful happens. My energy returns. My heart feels lighter. I can love them from wholeness instead of depletion.

They’re growing.
I’m growing.
And in that balance, everyone becomes stronger.

I have given enough.
And in giving myself back to myself, I found the truest form of love there is.

Gentle Coping Skills for Letting Go

1. Breathe before reacting.
When guilt or resistance rises, pause. Place a hand over your heart, inhale slowly, and remind yourself: Everyone is safe. Love is still here.

2. Journal the waves.
Write through the emotions. Allow sadness, frustration, and even relief to have a voice. The page holds truth without judgment.

3. Move your body.
Walk, stretch, or dance to release the stored tension of years spent doing. Let your breath guide the motion.

4. Create space for silence.
Let quiet moments exist without filling them. This is where you begin to hear yourself again.

5. Sip something nurturing.
Make tea that comforts your nervous system, like chamomile, tulsi, or rooibos with a touch of vanilla. Let every sip remind you of gentleness.

6. Affirm your worth daily.
Whisper to yourself: I am valuable even in stillness. My presence is enough.

7. Reconnect with what you love.
Paint, garden, read, sit in the sun, whatever brings you back to your essence. The things you once set aside are waiting for you.

8. Take it one step at a time.
Letting go is a process, not a performance. Each small act of trust is a victory.

Shared with love from Stone & Bloom Wellness; for every woman finding her way home to herself, one gentle step at a time.

Disclaimer
All information shared by Stone & Bloom Wellness,  including written, verbal, and energetic guidance,  is intended for educational and supportive purposes only. It reflects lived experience, holistic research, and intuitive understanding, and is not a substitute for professional medical or psychological care.

Always consult a qualified healthcare provider regarding any concerns about your health, hormones, or emotional well-being. Every body and field responds differently; take what resonates and let go of what feels complete.

By engaging with this content, you honour your own sovereignty and assume full responsibility for your choices, your energy, and your healing journey.