The Woman Behind the Curtain

I didn’t even realize I did this until a few years ago.

Someone in my family would casually mention something they wanted—maybe a new tradition, an idea for a project, or just a fun outing—and I’d go into motion. Not every time, not over every little thing, but definitely when it felt important.

For example, someone might say, “It would be so cool if we did ___ as a family.” Before they could finish the sentence, I’d be checking calendars, sending texts, looking for open weekends, and quietly working to make it happen.

It wasn’t out of resentment. It felt natural. I cared. I could make it happen. So I did.

But one day, I caught myself. Someone mentioned an idea in passing, and I almost jumped into action. Almost. But this time I paused. I didn’t do the thing. I didn’t make it happen.

And you know what?

It didn’t happen.

And that moment hit me hard.

It made me ask:

• Why is it so reflexive to step in?

• Why do I jump so quickly to help everyone else reach their dreams?

• And why does it feel selfish when I focus on my own?

Recently, I was awarded Toastmaster of the Year in our club.

Let’s be clear: it wasn’t for my stellar speaking skills. That part is still a work in progress. And it wasn’t because I’m some magnetic, extroverted leader.

I was recognized for showing up—consistently, quietly, and early—every single week. I was the one unlocking the doors, setting up the chairs, and making sure the room was ready by 7:00 a.m. so others could shine.

And for once, someone noticed.

They saw what I did behind the scenes. They acknowledged it. And as uncomfortable as that recognition felt… it also healed something in me.

Because I’ve spent most of my life being the woman behind the curtain—clearing the path, doing the grunt work, orchestrating the magic without needing the credit… until I kind of did.

I’ve often told myself, If I were more like Jesus, I wouldn’t care about being seen at all. I’d just serve. Quietly. Humbly.

But here’s what I’ve come to realize:

Even Jesus named what He needed.

Even He asked His closest friends to stay awake with Him in the hardest hour.

He didn’t say, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He said, “My soul is exceeding sorrowful… stay here with me.”

We assume that being Christlike means disappearing into service.

But maybe part of being Christlike is learning to ask for support.

To acknowledge our times of exhaustion.

To say, I matter too.

I want to say this clearly to the woman who needs to hear it:

I see you.

You’re the one who makes things happen.

You remember the birthdays. You send the text. You rearrange your schedule so someone else doesn’t have to.

You keep the wheels turning while others think it’s just “magic.”

You work hard to make sure they succeed—and they don’t even know it’s because of you.

You’re not invisible.

Your efforts count—even when they’re quiet.

You matter—not because of what you do, but because of who you are.

And maybe it’s time you start seeing that too.

High five ✋

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