They told us we could have it all. The career, the kids, the spotless house, the lot. It was never an offer. It was a workload dressed up as freedom. Here's the con, and what I'm doing about it.

There’s a rucksack I carry.
Invisible, but heavy.
It wasn’t packed in one go,
just a slow, relentless loading.
Not days or months,
but years of collecting…

It’s 7:44am. I’m already tired. There’s one odd sock again. Never two. Who knows where that other one goes. There’s grated cheese on the floor and a child saying, “Can I go on the iPad now?” before I’ve even finished wiping the tears from that video of a mother in Gaza digging her baby out of rubble…