I Carry What Others Don’t See

By Molly Engle

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I’ve started to realize something about the way I move through the world:

I carry what others don’t see.

Not in a dramatic, woes is me kind of way.

Just… quietly. Constantly. Always.

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I’m a container of things.

Not just my own emotions or responsibilities—but everyone else’s too.

I pick up what crosses my path:

An offhand comment.

A shift in tone.

The thing that didn’t get said.

And without even trying, I hold it close. I feel it fully.

It settles into me like something I should understand, make sense of, or carry until it’s safe to put down.

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Sometimes, the weight feels familiar.

It’s not all bad.

There’s comfort in noticing. In caring.

Sometimes it feels good to hold it—for a while.

But then there are the times when it’s too heavy.

So I shuffle it—from one arm to the other,

from heart to back pocket to brain to backpack.

Still, I carry it.

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I wish I could let it go.

Maybe if I sleep it off, it’ll leave me in the night.

Maybe I’ll wake up lighter.

But usually, I don’t.

And I never really know how long I’ll carry something.

It could be a few hours.

It could be years.

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I don’t always want to feel it all.

I don’t want to notice every ache in the room.

But I do.

It seems to be who I’ve always been.

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Some call it empathy.

Others say I’m too sensitive.

But I’ve come to understand something deeper:

I’m a collector.

A collector of the unseen.

Of the unspoken.

Of what others drop and don’t even realize.

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And because I carry so much that can’t be seen…

That’s why I say I’m tired.

Why I seem overwhelmed, even when nothing “big” is happening.

It’s not just what’s on my list.

It’s what I’ve been holding on the inside.

You can’t see it—

but I feel it in every breath.

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So if you’ve ever felt this too—

If you’re tired and can’t explain why,

If your nervous system is fried but your friends say, “you should be fine”—

I want you to know:

You’re not crazy.

You’re not lazy.

You’re carrying things others don’t even notice.

And you’re doing a beautiful job

of staying soft

in a world

that forgets

how heavy things really are.

I’m a collector of things… It’s who I’ve always been. I pick up what others seem to forget. I carry it well. But it’s heavy.

✨Chasing more life with you,

        Molly Engle

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