When You’re “Just a Therapist”

People say,

“Can I just run something past you?”

and before you answer,

You’re knee-deep in their trauma

with no shoes on.

They don’t ask if you’re tired.

They don’t ask if you’re full.

They don’t ask if you’ve already held

Six lives together that day.

They just say,

“But you’re a therapist,”

as if that means

You came with unlimited storage

with no processing delay.

You nod.

You hum thoughtfully.

You do not charge.

You go home and stare at the wall

like a phone that’s overheated

and it's shutting itself down.

You are everyone’s emotional USB.

No one ejects you safely.

They assume you are calm

because your voice is calm.

They assume you are fine

because you are useful.

They do not see you later,

googling “burnout symptoms”

for the fifth time

like it might say something new.

They do not see the toast and soup dinners.

The cancelled plans.

The way silence sometimes feels

too loud.

They just say,

“Wow, you must hear some things,”

and then immediately

tell you more.