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Confessions of a Warrior Woman

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Being a warrior woman is exhausting. And it's lonely. And it's largely my fault that it is.

I'm the strong one, the calm one, the one to call in a crisis - either to back you up or help lift you out. I'll fight for you if you're too tired. I'll be your strength, encouragement, the kick in the pants, and your rock to lean on. And it's usually my joy to do it too. I'm calm when you're breaking apart. I'm strong when you need to be weak. I'm the fighter, the healer, the mover. And it's true that the more and I can be and help another, the happier I am.

Until suddenly I'm the one needing that hand, that shoulder, that nudge. I spend so much time hiding by helping others. Part of it is that I do really want to hep, but part of it is to hide my weakness. It's easier to help others than to ask for help. It's easier to distract from my wounds by bandaging yours. This is my version of trying to tend to your speck while I'm staggeri…