LA MADRINA

You are there for people. Not in the abstract "I'm here for you" way. In the driving-across-town, carrying-the-boxes, answering-the-call-at-midnight way. You are the person people call when it falls apart, and you answer every time.
Honestly? That generosity is real. People don't call you because you're convenient. They call you because you actually help.
But when's the last time someone showed up for you like that? And would you even let them?

The one who rescued everyone and forgot to include herself on the list.

Somewhere you learned that being needed was the closest thing to being loved. If you were useful, you were safe. If you were the one people couldn't do without, you couldn't be left. So you built a life around other people's emergencies, and yours stayed in the drawer.
The rescue wasn't a hobby. It was a contract.

You know what everyone needs. You are tracking three situations that aren't yours. You gave advice this week that you haven't taken yourself. Your phone has more SOS texts than personal conversations.
Your empathy is running at full capacity. Your own tank reads different.

That's not codependent. That's someone who figured out that the safest place in any room was the helper's chair. If you're the one giving, nobody questions your value. If you're solving their crisis, nobody's looking at yours.
The rescue was the role. It just became the whole identity.

You are allowed to be the one who needs something. You are allowed to call someone first, not because they're in crisis but because you are. The people who love you don't just love what you do for them. Some of them would like a chance to prove that.
You already know how to save the day. That resume is full.

You show up. Every time. For everyone. That generosity is real and it's yours.
But your phone has more SOS texts than personal conversations. You know that math.
What happens if you call someone first? Not because they're in crisis. Because you are.