The Role I Didn't Choose: On Strength, Invisibility, and Letting Go

There's something profoundly isolating about being the one everyone leans on. For decades, I've been the eldest of six siblings—the fixer, the planner, the one who steps in when things get messy. Not because I volunteered, but because that's who I became somehow.

I've stood in countless doorways watching celebrations unfold—graduations, weddings, birthdays—rearranging my life to be present for others' milestones. I've offered my home as a refuge, my ears as confessionals, my resources as safety nets. This is what love looked like to me: showing up.

But when cancer entered my story, I discovered the painful paradox of the patriarchal role: When the strong one falters, people often look away.

In my latest Substack reflection, I share how my illness exposed an uncomfortable truth—my diagnosis wasn't met with an outpouring of support, but with awkward distance. The books and essays I've written over these past 18 months—raw, honest offerings of who I am now—have largely gone unacknowledged by those closest to me.

Time feels different now. Where others see endless horizons, I see three more summers. Three more chances to watch the fog roll in on the Cape. Three more opportunities to sit across from the people I love and ask about their lives.

In this space between affection and absence, I'm learning that love and presence are not the same thing. That it's entirely possible to be loved... and still feel invisible.

If you've ever been cast in a role that made parts of you disappear—if you've ever been the strong one who wasn't allowed to break—I invite you to read the full reflection on my Substack,  "The Edge of Now."

You can find it at: The Role I Didn't Choose