Page 70 of Chasing The Goal
I know. I’m just… tired. It was a late game. I didn’t want to make a thing out of it.
MAL.
I didn’t want to bedramatic.
You’re 31 weeks pregnant and working a double shift on your feet during a professional hockey game. You are allowed to be tired. That’s not dramatic.
I didn’t want to be a burden.
The screen stayed blank for a long time. I could picture her—sitting up in her bed, hoodie wrapped around her knees, her laptop forgotten as her brain spun into panic mode.
Dakota had always been the feeler. The empath. She wore her worry like a second skin, always one heartbeat away from checking in, from overcompensating. And I had taught her that—whether I meant to or not. By never flinching. By always being fine. By playing the role of the big sister so hard it became my whole identity.
It started when we were kids, when Mom was working double shifts and I was the one heating frozen pizza, packing lunches, braiding Dakota’s hair in crooked plaits before the bus came. There was no other option. If I didn’t step up, things didn’t get done.
So I did. I always did.
And that became who I was.
The one who could handle things. The one who didn’t complain. The one who fixed shit and swallowed her own messes because no one had time for them.
Andmaybe that worked when I was fifteen. Maybe even when I was twenty. But now I was thirty-one weeks pregnant and so tired I could barely keep my eyes open—and I still couldn’t say “I need help” without choking on it.
The guilt crept in hot and fast. Because Dakota had her own life now. School. Friends. Plans. And here I was, still tugging on her sleeve with problems I hadn’t earned permission to share.
But the thing was… she wasmine. My baby sister. The one I’d held when she cried, the one I’d picked up from sleepovers early because someone was mean, the one I made pancakes for on birthdays even when we barely had milk in the fridge.
I raised her as much as Mom did.
And some part of me still didn’t know how to stop. That’s what made it feel like a burden—not the situation, not the exhaustion, not even the pregnancy. Just the deep, unshakable fear that needing her flipped the script in a way I didn’t know how to survive. That maybe if I stopped being the strong one, there’d be nothing left of me worth showing.
So I didn’t text again.
I just held the phone in my hand and waited for her to remind me that I didn’t have to hold the whole world alone anymore.
Dakota
You’re not a burden. You’re my sister. You’re literally growing a human. You’ve done everything alone for months and haven’t asked for a single ounce of help. You’re not a burden. You’re the strongest person I know. And you’re allowed to need someone.
The tears came quietly, like they always did when I finally let myself believe her.
I’m okay. I just needed to say it out loud.
Or in text, I guess.
Thank you for saying it. But you should text Jaymie too. Or Eliza. Just let someone there know you’re not at 100%. Please.
I stared at the message. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want anyone else to know how close to the edge I felt. But she was right. I had people. I just didn’t know how to lean on them without feeling like I was failing.
I’ll text Eliza in the morning if I still feel off.
You promise?
Yes. I promise.
The baby shifted again, a low roll under my ribs, and I winced. The couch was suddenly too narrow, too flat. I adjusted sideways, curling around a pillow, phone still clutched in my hand.
You don’t have to do everything by yourself anymore. Let people take care of you for once.
