I Will Not Carry This

An outstretched hand against a textured background, overlaid with the bold statement "I WILL NOT CARRY THIS," conveys a powerful message of setting boundaries and letting go. Authored by Honey Badger.

There comes a moment when you realize that what you’ve been holding was never yours.

Not the emotion.

Not the responsibility.

Not the silence.

Not the aftermath.

You were taught to carry it because you were capable.

Because you were available.

Because you didn’t explode when others refused to feel.

That does not make it yours.

I will not carry what someone else refuses to face.

I will not carry unprocessed anger disguised as “stress.”

I will not carry entitlement wrapped in family loyalty.

I will not carry the emotional debris of people who expect care but reject accountability.

This is not cruelty.

This is clarity.

Women are trained early to become containers.

We are praised for holding things together.

For being the steady one.

For absorbing tension so the room can stay comfortable.

But comfort built on one person’s nervous system is not harmony.

It is extraction.

And extraction always leaves someone depleted.

Refusing to carry is not abandonment.

It is a boundary placed at the exact point where harm begins.

When I say I will not carry this, I am not rejecting connection.

I am rejecting displacement — the quiet, corrosive habit of handing off what is uncomfortable to the nearest willing body.

I am not the keeper of emotions someone refuses to metabolize.

I am not the archive for harm that never gets named.

I am not the shock absorber for someone else’s avoidance.

There is a lie that says:

“If you don’t carry it, everything will fall apart.”

That lie has kept generations of women exhausted.

Things that fall apart when you set them down were never stable.

They were being propped up by your silence, your labor, your nervous system.

Let them reveal their truth.

Putting something down does not require permission.

You do not need agreement.

You do not need validation.

You do not need to explain your reasons in language soft enough for others to swallow.

A boundary is not a debate.

It is a decision.

Some people will call this cold.

They will call it selfish.

They will say you’ve changed.

They are right about one thing.

You have changed.

You are no longer available to be used as a buffer between someone and their own responsibility.

This is not about becoming hardened.

It is about becoming honest.

Honest about what your body can carry.

Honest about what never belonged to you.

Honest about the cost of continuing to say yes when your system is already in protest.

When I say I will not carry this, I am not throwing anything back.

I am setting it down exactly where it belongs.

With the person who created it.

With the system that benefits from it.

With the silence that protected it.

I remain.

But I am no longer available for misuse.

This is the beginning.

Not of healing-as-performance.

Not of transformation narratives.

But of something quieter and far more durable:

Self-respect without apology.