Domestic Disaster

My kitchen flooded… stupid washing machine. Water everywhere, sopping wet clothes to sort out. Did I stress? No; I picked up a mop and bucket and cleaned up. It may have taken me over an hour, but it wasn’t something I couldn’t handle. I checked the filter, found it blocked and took out two 50 pence pieces and a load of hair before putting everything back together again. I set the cycle to spin, and everything worked perfectly. Go me!
After taking out that load, I put in another; within 5 minutes there was water everywhere again, pouring from the machine, streaming down my face. Why did I cry? Was it the thought of cleaning for the next hour? Maybe the worry that I wouldn’t be able to fix it?
No. I cried because I’m sick of having to be capable. I’m tired of being the one that will manage things. I try to believe that, one day, there will be someone to help, someone to pat me on the back and say, ‘Let’s sort it, it’ll be fine’. But I’m beginning to doubt that.
A few weeks ago, during a tense and stressful period, one of my wonderful friends told me, ‘You are the strongest person I know.’ He believes I will get through anything, even on the days that I don’t. The thing is, I just don’t have the choice; I’m strong because I have to be. Today, I’d just like someone to lean on.

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