Being Here – Day 55
Being Here – Poem Day 55
Poem — When I feel responsible for everyone
We now move into a new complex: Contribution / caregiving.
For some, care expresses itself not as choice,
but as urgency.
A quick noticing of what is needed.
A readiness to fix.
A sense that someone must step in — and that someone is you.
This pattern often grows from care itself.
From empathy.
From wanting others to be well.
Over time, though, responsibility can become automatic.
The body may lean forward before a request is spoken.
Today’s poem works with that urgency.
It does not withdraw care.
It does not suggest indifference.
It does not reduce compassion.
Instead, it offers something steadier:
that care can remain present
without self-erasure.
That you can stay whole
while still facing outward.
Nothing needs to be decided while listening.
The sequence carries itself.
Pause.
If anything lingers or feels activating after listening, you might try one small thing — only if it feels helpful.
Let your shoulders drop slightly and remain there for a moment.
Nothing else is required.
Warmly,
Per
Poem – When I feel responsible for everyone
There is space here to care without carrying everything. Nothing is falling apart if you pause.
The body is already supported, held without holding others up, steady without leaning outward.
Awareness settles into where you are, not scanning for who needs you next, not listening for distress at a distance.
Muscles release their constant readiness, not abandoning strength, just setting down what is not yours.
Breath moves freely again, no longer shaped around vigilance, no longer braced for urgency.
Warmth stays close and contained, not pouring outward to fix, not dimming, present without rushing.
The chest softens without collapsing. Care doesn’t disappear — it simply stops running ahead.
The urge to help is allowed without being acted on immediately. Concern can exist without becoming responsibility.
The body recognises that others have weight of their own, paths of their own, capacity that does not depend on you.
There is a sense of being available without being consumed, present without being required.
This moment does not ask you to stop caring. It does not ask you to harden.
You remain here, inside a body that can care and rest, offer and remain intact, without losing itself.
For now, that is enough.
