Today, I noticed myself getting annoyed when someone let their dog jump on a passerby.

He saw the person coming.
He could’ve called the dog back.
He didn’t.
No apology. No eye contact. Just moved on.

And for a moment, I felt more than annoyed.
I felt invisible. Dismissed.
Disrespected—on behalf of the stranger, and maybe on behalf of myself.

At first glance, it might seem small.
But it touched something deeper:

A lifetime of having to be aware when others aren’t.

I’ve always been the one who notices.
Who adjusts.
Who considers other people’s space, tone, feelings, limits.

So when someone doesn’t even apologise for a blatant intrusion, it stings.
Not because I need perfection—
But because I’ve spent so much of my life carrying awareness for others who didn’t carry it themselves.

And maybe there’s another layer.
Maybe part of me feels a little envious of his ease—
his ability to walk through the world without that kind of weight.

There’s a part of me that wonders:

“What would it be like to not worry about everyone else for once?”

But the truth is, I value that I notice.
I like that I’m respectful of others.
It’s part of who I am. It’s something I want to model for my son, for the people around me.

It just gets heavy sometimes.
Especially when it feels like no one else is carrying it with me.

So maybe the annoyance wasn’t just about the dog.

Maybe it was the quiet voice in me saying:

“I’m tired. I carry a lot. And I wish more people would meet me halfway.”

That doesn’t mean I stop caring.
But it does mean I get to have compassion for the part of me that’s been over-functioning for far too long.
And maybe, when it makes sense, I can put the weight down for a bit.

Even awareness needs rest.