It's Better to Offload Than Explode

Over the last eight years or so, I've noticed something about many of my friendships. Whenever life became overwhelming, my phone would ring. Sometimes, it was about work. Other times, it was relationships, family, finances or simply the weight of trying to hold everything together.

I'd listen, ask questions, offer perspective where I could and, more often than not, we'd end the conversation with them sounding noticeably lighter than when we had started. I never resented those conversations. In fact, I was grateful that people trusted me enough to let me into some of the most difficult moments of their lives.

But every now and then, after hanging up, a question would find its way into my thoughts.

Why doesn't anyone ever ask how I'm doing?

I never said any of this out loud. I just kept it to myself. There were times when I wondered if people were so caught up in their own struggles that they simply didn't notice anyone else's. I would even find myself talking about those frustrations with other friends rather than with the people I was quietly disappointed in. Looking back, I can see that I had reached a conclusion without considering another possibility.

I realised very few people knew what I was carrying. It wasn't because they didn't care. It was because I rarely let anyone see it. For years, I wore strength so naturally that people assumed it came easily to me. I listened far more than I spoke and encouraged far more than I confided. Somewhere along the way, I had created a version of myself that always seemed okay. It wasn't intentional. I simply found myself carrying other people's burdens while trying to manage my own.

That began to change recently. I've slowly learned to let a small number of trusted people into parts of my life that I had always kept to myself.

Not everyone needs access to our deepest struggles, but someone should.

To my surprise, the people I trusted didn't pull away. They leaned in. They checked on me. They reminded me that support isn't something we only give; it's something we are also allowed to receive.

A few days ago, one particular conversation brought all of that into focus. A friend called me in a state of panic. As she spoke, I did what I had always done. I listened. We worked through what was troubling her, and gradually I could hear the anxiety leaving her voice. By the end of the conversation, she paused and said, "I feel so much better now that I've offloaded."

Almost instinctively, I replied, "I'm glad. It's good to offload so that you don't explode."

We laughed, said our goodbyes and hung up.

I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd just said. For years, I had encouraged other people to offload while holding on to my own burdens. Yet somehow, in one simple sentence, I had captured a lesson that I was only beginning to learn myself.

Offloading isn't a sign that we're falling apart. Sometimes it's the very thing that stops us from doing so.

As I reflected on that conversation, I realised something else had shifted within me. I had always wondered why people didn't seem to notice that I needed support too. Today, I wonder whether I had ever really given them the opportunity. After all, people can only respond to the version of us they know. If we consistently present ourselves as the person who has everything under control, we shouldn't be surprised when others assume that we do.

Perhaps, that's why vulnerability feels so uncomfortable. It asks us to let go of the image we've worked so hard to maintain. It requires us to trust that the people who have leaned on us might also be willing to stand beside us.

Reflect

Who are you always making space for?

Who have you allowed to make space for you?

Sometimes the strongest people in the room are simply the ones who have become the most practised at hiding the weight they are carrying. The people around us are not mind readers. They cannot support a struggle they do not know exists.

Decide

Strength doesn't have to mean silence.

There is courage in being dependable, but there is also courage in admitting that you don't have to carry everything alone. Choose a few trusted people and allow them to know the real you, not just the composed version that the world has become accustomed to seeing.

Act

This week, if someone asks how you are doing, resist the temptation to automatically say, "I'm fine," if you are not. You don't have to tell everyone everything, but perhaps tell someone something.

And if someone trusts you enough to offload their burdens onto you, don't simply see it as another problem to solve. Recognise it for what it often is: an expression of trust.

Sometimes the healthiest thing we can do, for ourselves and for the people around us, is to let some of the weight go before it becomes too heavy to carry. The shift isn't learning to carry more; it's learning that even those who carry others deserve somewhere safe to put their own burdens down.

I'd love to hear your thoughts. Have you ever found yourself carrying everyone else's burdens while keeping your own to yourself?

Yours truly,

Dr Kenny

❤️

If today’s post resonates with you, don’t let it stop here. Subscribe now 👇to receive weekly reflections, research-backed insights, and practical tools that help you grow, lead, and shine in every area of your life. Let’s take the next step together; your journey toward clarity, courage, and meaningful change starts here.