The Correction: Entry 02.5

The Correction: Entry 02.5

Thursday. Somewhere between knowing and changing.

I’ve been thinking about Ms Rose all week.

Not in a sad way. In a studying way. Like going back to read a book you read as a child and realising you understood none of it the first time.

She never asked for help. Not once that I can remember. If something needed doing, she did it. If something was broken, she fixed it. If someone needed holding together, she held them. And she made it look so natural that it never occurred to me to question it. That was just what strength looked like. That was just what love looked like.

So that’s what I became.

The problem with inheriting someone’s strength is that you sometimes inherit their blind spots too. Ms Rose didn’t ask for help because she didn’t need to — she was genuinely that capable. But I wonder sometimes if she was also just that private. If the not-asking was partly strength and partly something else. A decision that some things you carry alone.

I carry things alone. Always have. And I’ve always called it strength because that’s the word I learned.

I’m starting to wonder if there’s another word for it.

Not weakness. I don’t think it’s that simple. But maybe something like — a habit so old you’ve forgotten it’s a choice.

I’m sitting with that this week. I don’t have a resolution. Just the question.

More on Monday.