Let’s slap a label on that work you do that nobody sees. I’m calling it “invisible work”. You don’t clock in for it. There’s no paycheck, no round of applause at the end of the day. It doesn’t go on a résumé. But it piles up anyway—quietly, steadily, until you’re carrying so much that you forget what it’s like to relax. You’ve been strapped in so long, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to move freely about the cabin.
Invisible work is remembering birthdays, responding to texts, confirming appointments, refilling prescriptions, remembering to pay that stupid bill for $13.48 from the doctor, scheduling grooms for your dogs, getting a haircut. It’s replacing the toilet paper roll, it’s sweeping up dog hair in the corners, running laundry, changing the air filters, trimming the overgrown bushes, pulling weeds, getting the mail, turning on the sprinkler – and then remembering to turn if off. It’s managing the mood in the room and being the one who adjusts. You notice the tension before anyone speaks it, and then you work—emotionally, energetically, mentally—to smooth it over before it explodes. That’s work. But no one calls it that.
“Nobody likes being the mule in the pilgrimage.”
–From The Weight of Invisible Work
You unintentionally became the handler of details. The one who resets the internet and figures out why it won’t work. The one who fills out the forms and makes all the calls to transfer the satellite service to a less expensive streaming account. The one who just does what needs to be done because if you don’t do it, it won’t get done. Because you are expected to do it. It’s exhausting.
But you’ve been doing it for so long, people assume you like it, which is false. Nobody likes being the mule in the pilgrimage. Or maybe you’ve just gone numb to it all, but deep inside, you still feel it. You feel every second of it – in your back, your shoulders, your sleep patterns, your eating habits. Your frayed nerves. A rapid heartbeat. Stroke-level blood pressure. Irritability that enters the room before you do.
For me, it really hits when I’ve been working frantically all day, and I take a break to go get some ice out of the freezer and turn to head right back to my office… and just as I make that turn, my Mother says, “Hey, while you’re downstairs….” Or when my boss puts on my annual performance review that “Jenny doesn’t like to take on new responsibilities” and gives me a 2 out of 5 in that category. That’s when it really hurts my own heart and drives home the reality that nobody really knows what I carry, what I oversee, what I accomplish, what I keep from going awry.
They’d sure notice if you or I stopped doing it!
But we persevere because we are the modern-day Atlases, holding up the world while everyone else carries on with theirs.
What makes invisible work so heavy isn’t just the tasks—it’s the silence around them. The fact that no one thanks you, no one notices, and no one seems grateful that you automatically took care of certain things. That no one steps in or steps up to help you carry the weight. You made the extra effort. That the effort disappears as soon as it’s done, leaving no evidence that you even showed up.
But still, you keep showing up.
Somewhere along the way, you became the one who holds it all together because you were raised to be responsible and because no one ever told you when to stop or if you even could. Maybe you didn’t mean to. Maybe you just couldn’t stand the mess. Or maybe it was survival—because if you didn’t do it, who would? But even tough people get tired. Even the dependable ones break down. Sometimes they just need a minute to themselves. Or a Vegas trip to see Wynonna from the third row.
So if no one’s told you lately: I see you. I see the work you do that no one acknowledges. I see the strength it takes to carry it all – and to carry it quietly. Let’s be honest – I’m certainly not doing that. I’m screaming all the way to the garbage can.
No, the load you are carrying is not imaginary. You’re not selfish for wanting help. You’re not weak for needing rest. You’re not selfish for putting your needs first. It’s your life and your time, and our lives and our time are relatively short. We can’t continue to spend our minutes like they are pennies, just throwing them into a wishing well, hoping for a miracle.
You are doing the Lord’s work—even if the world doesn’t notice.
And I want you to know… you deserve more than to be silently thanked in your own mind or by some rando blogger who gets emo when “just one more thing” gets added to the already enormous list of things that need to get done. You deserve a spotlight. You deserve rest. You deserve credit. You deserve relief from that invisible load you are carrying.
I am not a therapist, and I am not a counselor of any sort. Everything I write on this blog is friend-to-friend, human-to-human. We all have unique experiences, for sure. But we also share some common ones.
I’m not here to give you answers, either, or to offer solutions, or make up some hollow, one-size-fits-all “5 Easy Steps to Fix Your Life”. Hell, I’m still fixing mine and dropping so many balls I’m thinking about opening an Amazon store for ‘em. I’m just here to say what maybe no one else has said, and that is, “You are not alone.” (cue the Michael Jackson music…).
So hear me now, and hear me loudly and clearly. You have done enough. You’ve done more than enough. You don’t have to earn rest. You already did.
Looking for peace instead of just perspective: Visit Still Waters.