This is the perspective of a person who carries everything on their back, the one who stands alongside people in their toughest times, yet never asks for help, always holding others up without admitting they need someone to hold them up. This is the perspective of the one who’s strong for everyone, shown through the eyes of an object: glue.

I sometimes wonder what it must be like to finally pull the off switch, to finally let go and feel the nothingness of holding up nothing. Frankly, I have never experienced it. Nor do I have to, one would probably reason. It’s been my job to do that since I was first made … I don’t know when. It’s been too long. I have even forgotten my birthday.

It’s quite annoying sometimes. Feeling that no one asks if you’re okay with holding stuff up, if you want to take a break and quit being so helpful. And no one offers to help, either. But then you end up feeling guilty for feeling like this, when the only useful thing you do is this.

My name is Glue. Yeah, I have been around for quite a while. I am supposed to be the peacemaker between cracks in toys, the serene architect of paper creations and God knows what else. I also know I am supposed to be the only thing for this, but I’ve got other people, too. Heard of Sellotape and sewing thread? They’ve been around for a while now. But the favourite go-to-when-there’s-a-problem is, obviously, me.

What happens when the one who is always strong needs help too? A closer look at empathy, responsibility and the hidden struggles of always being the strong one

I think I should be flattered that people regard me with such importance. But a part of me wishes they didn’t, that I could also ask for help. The look in people’s eyes when the map they wanted to paste, the poster they wanted to hold up, the project they wanted to finish — in short, the stuff I have to fix — fails because I wasn’t strong enough to do my job.

I try to tell myself I want to do this, but I know I don’t. Because the fear of not being enough is overwhelming. The fear that the world depends on you to stick their child’s maths worksheet together is freaking me out every nanosecond.

If you’ve ever used me, which is an inevitable act, you must have known the part where I overflow and exert more than enough adhesive. That’s not you putting too much force. That is me worrying that if I make a mistake, I’ll stop being reliable enough. Like one day someone will realise how stupid using me is. How useless I am, and thwack, I’ll be thrown away. That isn’t the thing that’d comfort you during a midnight spiral.

The pressure is inevitable. People think it’s an honour. Want the honest feedback? It’s not. It’s one hell of a nightmare. Because you should be the one holding stuff up, not showing cracks in your façade. You stop thinking you deserve help, and that is a scary place to be. I struggle with asking for help, struggle with trying to be enough. I struggle to say I’m tired, that I want rest, that I’m done, for God’s sake. But I don’t. Because I’m supposed to hold everyone up.

I wonder if there’s someone out there for me.

But there’s the good stuff. Empathy seems like a piece of cake when you are the person who holds up others. Knowing that you may have helped someone, even though that ‘someone’ doesn’t even have an idea of how broken you feel, makes my day. Even if no one knows what’s going on in my head. Even if no one asks if I’m tired of sticking stuff, if I want to relax, if I’m worried about my adhesive lifetime.

Signing off, my name is Glue. I am the strong one, sticking stuff together, smoothing things over, helping people when I do not know how to help myself. Because, after all, people are relying on me, and I use the gift I have to help them. It’s plain textbook empathy, right?

Published in Dawn, Young World, August 15th, 2026