Chapter Three: Seen, but Not Seen

Everyone always notices when my little brother is upset. He's young, so his emotions are loud - his stress shows in tears, tantrums, or silence that doesn't match his usual energy. The moment something's off with him, people stop, pay attention, ask questions. They move quickly to comfort him, reassure him, solve whatever's wrong. And they should - he's just a kid, and he deserves that care. But what I can't help but notice is the contrast. When it's me who's falling apart on the inside, when I'm mentally exhausted or emotionally breaking down, it's like no one even glances in my direction.

It makes me wonder - do they see that I'm overwhelmed and just choose to ignore it? Or do they genuinely not see it at all? Maybe it's because, in their eyes, I'm not supposed to struggle. I've taken on this role so completely, so seamlessly, that they've stopped thinking of me as someone who can fall apart. I'm not seen as the tired older sibling or the girl who needs help too. I'm seen as the one who keeps going, no matter what. The one who doesn't need support, who doesn't cry, who doesn't feel the same way everyone else does.

And that's what hurts the most. I'm not invisible, but my pain is. My tiredness is seen as laziness. My silence is mistaken for attitude. My breakdowns are viewed as overreactions, even though I've been holding it in for far too long. It's not that I want special treatment. I just want someone to ask how I'm really doing. To notice when I'm not okay - not because I'm yelling or crying, but because they actually care enough to look closer.

But instead, I've become the background noise. Expected to function, to perform, to support, no matter what's going on inside me. And the only time people really pay attention to me is when something goes wrong - when I mess up, when I miss something, when the things I'm carrying start to fall. That's when the world notices. Not my pain. Not my struggle. Just the mess it caused. The Role I Never Asked For