I’ve been seeing a new therapist since my father’s death. He’s a rabbi—a detail that felt important to me as I navigate grief. Working with someone rooted in the same faith tradition as my dad has allowed me to honor his customs while also understanding them more deeply.
One of the things I appreciate most about this therapist is that he gives me homework. Not the abstract kind, but tangible assignments that invite self-discovery—books to read, exercises to practice, small but powerful experiments in awareness.
Recently, we’ve been talking about control. About how I like to lead, organize, manage, and make things happen. There’s a reason I’m my own boss—I thrive when I’m steering the ship. But underneath that need for control, I’ve realized, is my instinct to care for others. Being in charge allows me to anticipate needs and offer support before anyone even asks.
I’m the person with the snacks, the Band-Aids, the crayons, and paper for a restless child. I come prepared. It’s part of who I am.
So when my therapist asked me to go through my purse and remove anything that wasn’t for my benefit, I thought it would be easy. It wasn’t. When I finished, I realized that not only was I carrying things for everyone else, but I didn’t even need such a big purse anymore.
Then came part two of the assignment: the crate in the back of my car.
Inside I found:
- a spare dog leash (for the many lost dogs I’ve encountered),
- two bowls (for said dogs),
- two sets of jumper cables,
- two umbrellas,
- three rolls of paper towels,
- two pairs of gardening gloves,
- sunshades for backseat passengers,
- two ice scrapers,
- and a bag of tools my dad gave me when I was sixteen—a bag that’s traveled with me through every car I’ve owned.
Seeing it all spread out, I was struck by how much of what I carry—literally and emotionally—is for other people. My readiness to help, to fix, to rescue has filled not only my purse and my car but my mind and my schedule.
The truth is, many of us—especially caregivers, parents, teachers, leaders—are constantly preparing for the “what-ifs.” We fill our homes, our calendars, even our hearts with things that help others but often leave us depleted.
Caring for Yourself First
This season of my life is about learning to care for me. My children are grown; they no longer need me to pack a bag of snacks and distractions. And yet, I’ve been living as though they—or someone—might.
Now, I’m intentionally lightening my load. Making space. Creating room for myself—not just in my car, but in my days. I’m asking myself:
- What am I holding that isn’t mine to hold?
- What am I carrying out of habit, obligation, or identity rather than need?
- What could shift if I allowed myself to take up space—not just as the caretaker, but as the cared-for?
It’s been an eye-opening process, and I invite you to join me in it. Take a moment this week to look at what you’re carrying—physically, emotionally, and energetically. Open your purse, your glove compartment, your calendar. Ask yourself: Who am I packing this for?
Because here’s the truth- most people don’t need us to rescue them. They need us to see them, to listen, to show up as our whole, rested, cared-for selves.
When we begin to care for ourselves with the same intention and generosity that we offer to others, we not only lighten our own load—we model what wholeness looks like.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s the kind of care the world needs most.
