The Weight Beneath the Wings
For the Twos
who give until they forget they’re worthy too
I show up with open hands
heart stitched into my sleeve
Service etched into my skin
and love folded in every gesture
Don’t even ask
I’m already there
Sensing what you’re not saying
Reading the ache between the lines
I’m the whisper that says,
“You’re not alone”
They call me 2
The Helper
The Giver
But sometimes,
I forget I’m human too.
I was trained in the art of self-sacrifice
Childhood taught me that being needed
was the closest thing to being seen
So I became the caretaker
The (over) functioning provider
Learned to give and give
until giving became my name
I can be blindly prideful
thinking my worth is in usefulness
Believing your happiness
is more sacred than my wholeness
My helping, at times, a barter in disguise,
If I help you enough, will you love me?
Will you stay?
Fearing rejection - so I give more
Telling myself “I’m helpful”
but without limits
it’s martyrdom in slow motion
Help that needs to be noticed
is love with a price tag
Repressing my needs to defend myself
Burying them deep
so no one sees my hunger
I become a feast for others
while fasting from myself.
Love must be earned
through sacrifice
through saying “yes”
when my soul is screaming “no”
I am Martha
Fixated on flattery
Not just compliments
but crafting myself
into whatever version of me
makes you see me more
I turn inside out into a sanctuary,
even when I’m empty.
Focussing on others’ needs
Scanning for suffering,
for subtle shifts in tone.
My radar is always on,
but I forget to ask:
“Who’s watching out for me?”
If I feel
Unwanted
Unappreciated
Taken for granted
Or invisible
after pouring myself out
drop by drop
I’ll react
True, soul-deep,
nothing-to-prove freedom is holy
Not earned love,
not performance-based belonging.
Freedom to say:
“I matter, even when I’m not helping you.”
I stretch to 4
To feel
To name my longing without shame
To sit in solitude
and not panic from the silence
I release to 8
To speak truth
To own power
Allowing “no” be a sacred word
boundaries become bridges
to self-honouring empathy
My value is in being known
So, I wake up my inner witness
and begin to love me
in my mess,
in my stillness,
in sacred care of myself
trading people-pleasing
for personal peace
I unfold
slowly, vulnerably
into my own reckoning
my own becoming
“May you find in yourself
the quiet courage
to stand still long enough
to feel your own longing
as holy, and to see that your own soul
is worth returning to.” (John O’Donohue)
I am Two
I will always love
But now,
I love with truth
With rest
With boundaries
as an act of radical freedom
I still offer my heart
but not to be loved
To honour me
I am not just the helper
I am the helped
And in my healing,
I find my way home - to me.
