I’m Not Your Mom, Maid, or Machine

Real Talk Vol. 15

I’m not your doormat.

Don’t think you can walk all over me.

I’m not your bank.

Don’t treat me like an ATM with endless funds.

I’m not your sex toy.

My body is not your entitlement, reward, or stress reliever.

I’m not your maid.

I didn’t sign up to do grown people’s dishes, laundry, or emotional labor.

I’m not your mother.

Your emotional immaturity is not my responsibility to nurture.

I’m not your emergency contact when it’s convenient

but invisible when you’re good.

I’m not your punching bag for unprocessed pain

or your audience for half-baked apologies.

I’ve been expected to be mature, forgiving, helpful, generous, sexy, quiet, and grateful.

I’ve been told I “have it together,”

but no one ever asked if I was tired of holding it all.

I’ve had partners who wanted a wife, a therapist, and a mom rolled into one,

and gave none of that back.

I’ve had a mother who believed I owed her.

A father who tried to make my little sister my responsibility.

And I’ve had moments where I wondered if love meant obligation,

or just endurance.

But not anymore.

I am Chandler.

A woman.

A human being.

A full soul with needs, limits, and a backbone.

You don’t get to assign me parts in your story

that cost me pieces of mine.

–C