Imagine that you’re a child again, and you’re walking down a long, seemingly endless path ahead of you. Slung over your shoulders is your childhood backpack—before it was faded, stained, and the zipper stopped working.
As you walk, your mother approaches. She seems angry, though you aren't entirely sure why. Without a word, she drops a small rock into your backpack. You open your mouth to ask what happened, but before you can, she walks away looking a little lighter.
A while later, your father approaches. Something seems to be weighing on him. You want to ask what's wrong, but instead he quietly places another rock into your backpack. He sighs, seems to feel better, and continues on his way.
And so it goes—step after step, mile after mile, year after year.
Another disappointment, another rock.
Another conflict, another rock.
Another burden someone doesn’t want to carry, another rock.
Sometimes the rocks come from parents. Sometimes from siblings, relatives, friends, or partners. Each one is small enough that nobody thinks much of it.
At first, you manage. You grow stronger. You adjust. Eventually, however, the backpack becomes so heavy that every step hurts.
And then one day, as an adult, you stop. You set the backpack on the ground.
For the first time, you look inside and realize something important: none of these rocks belong to you.
Immediately, people begin to protest:
“Why are you causing problems? Just keep walking!”
“Why are you making such a big deal out of this now? You never complained before!”
“Why can’t you just be the bigger person?”
However, you realize that what they’re really upset about isn’t that you’ve put the backpack down; they’re upset because the moment you stopped carrying their burdens, they became responsible for carrying them themselves.
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