My mantra — role model, not martyr

 

My mantra — role model, not martyr

I spent ten minutes talking out loud today — a voice journal about how angry I still am I keep trying not to be angry, but the truth is simple: they could have helped, and they chose not to. I get stuck in the narrative of why they should have, all the reasons they had the money, the time, the options — nurses, support, anything. But whether they could have or should have isn’t actually the point. The point is: they didn’t.

And I’m the one who did. But I didn’t really have a choice, or maybe I did but I never would’ve taken it. Helping was always going to be my choice. That’s who I am.  

I find it hard to sit with that — maybe because I’m neurodiverse, maybe because I over balance things in my head — but I can see that I sometimes build big narratives to justify feeling righteous. And I’m not righteous. I’m just someone who did what needed doing.  

So the work now is accepting the simple truth: They chose not to help. I chose to. That’s the whole story.

I don’t need to keep giving myself the long monologue. My mantra — role model, not martyr — still stands. I did what was right for me. The fracture that happened afterwards was probably inevitable, whether it was my words or not. It was already cracked.

Footnote

Short story — A woman sits centre stage, talking out loud while seated in a dining‑table chair. She pretends there’s a steering wheel in front of her and a set of gears at her side. She moves her hands as if driving, shifting through imaginary motions while speaking her thoughts in real time — a first‑person account, talking herself through every argument, every angle, every version of the story.

Short Story — Centre Stage  below AI my words 

A woman sits at a dining‑table chair, feet planted, hands lifted as if gripping a steering wheel. She shifts an imaginary gearstick, steady, deliberate — driving nowhere, but talking herself forward.

“I spent ten minutes saying it out loud,” she begins. “Not shouting. Not spiralling. Just naming it. They could have helped. They didn’t. I did. Because that’s who I am.”

She turns the wheel slightly, as if navigating a bend.

“I keep building the big narrative — the why, the should, the could. But the truth is simple. They chose not to. I chose to. That’s the whole story.”

Another gear change. Not dramatic — mechanical, functional.

“I’m neurodiverse. I over‑balance things. I try new skills, I don’t manage all of them every time. I’m not linear. I don’t need to be. I’m learning. That’s enough.”

She straightens the wheel, settles her hands.

“My mantra still stands: role model, not martyr.”

No tears. No collapse. Just a woman in a chair, rehearsing clarity, driving herself out of the old script and into the one that fits.