A Day
Without
Help
by: Ulysses Ybiernas ♦ May 8, 2010
A reflective account of resilience, responsibility, and perseverance of juggling work, parenting, and household duties after sudden change.
Lately, life has felt like a constant balancing act, one that grows heavier by the day. There is always something that needs to be done, something waiting, something unfinished. And just as I begin to find a rhythm, something shifts.
My house helper, who had been with us for nearly a year, suddenly left. She ran away with her boyfriend, despite still being married. It was abrupt, unsettling, and, from what I can gather, not entirely her own decision but one shaped by pressure and emotion. It’s difficult to judge. People make choices in moments of confusion, and sometimes those choices carry consequences they never fully anticipated.
Her absence, however, has left a very real gap in our daily life, one that I now have to fill.
This morning began earlier than usual. Before the sun had fully risen, I was already on my feet, washing laundry, tidying the house, scrubbing the car, and preparing breakfast. I packed lunch not only for myself but also for my children to bring to school. The hours seemed to compress, one task bleeding into the next, leaving little room to pause.
I chose not to hire a temporary replacement. Part of me believes this is an opportunity, perhaps even a necessary one, for my children. They need to understand that a home does not run on convenience alone. It requires effort, discipline, and shared responsibility. If there is anything good to come from this disruption, it is the lesson that independence is built, not given.
Now I sit at work, finally finding a moment to breathe. The bank is unusually quiet today, with only a handful of customers passing through. Closing time approaches, and for once, the pace has not been persistent. It should feel like relief, and in some ways, it does.
But my body tells a different story.
There’s a persistent discomfort in my stomach, a heavy, bloated feeling that refuses to settle. Perhaps it’s something I ate or perhaps it’s the physical toll of the day catching up with me. I feel drained, not just in body but somewhere deeper, where fatigue lingers even when you try to ignore it.
And still, my mind refuses to rest.
There’s the house project ahead, another responsibility waiting on the horizon. It will require funding, likely a housing loan from the bank, and careful planning if I hope to see it completed before the year ends. The thought alone adds pressure, a quiet but constant reminder that time is moving, whether I am ready or not.
It’s now 4:41 p.m., according to the clock on my computer. Strangely, today has not been as stressful as I expected. In fact, I’ve been given this rare moment of stillness, a chance to sit down and write in this small notebook that has, over time, become more than just paper. It is a companion of sorts, a place where thoughts can exist freely, where I can speak without interruption or judgment. There are things in life that are easier written than spoken, especially when there is no one else to share them with.
Yet even now, my focus wavers. The discomfort in my stomach pulls my attention away, grounding me in the present moment in the most inconvenient way. All I can think about is going home, stepping out of this space and into something more familiar, more comforting.
I’ve finished balancing my cash box, and everything aligns perfectly. It’s a small victory, but one I welcome. At least something today has fallen into place.
Now my thoughts drift to something simpler: dinner. What to cook? What would bring a bit of comfort after a long day? Pancit canton comes to mind, simple, familiar, and one of my favorites. It has been a while since I last made it, and perhaps tonight is the right time.
For now, I will close this entry and prepare to leave.
It isn’t easy carrying two roles at once, provider and caregiver, worker and parent. At times, it feels like wearing two heavy robes, each pulling in its own direction. But whether it is difficult or not, it hardly matters.
What matters is that I am capable of carrying them.
Because at the end of the day, my greatest responsibility and my greatest purpose, is to care for my children and see them through, no matter how heavy the load becomes.
“Some days demand that you become everything at once, a worker, a parent, a keeper of the home, and though the weight is heavy, love is what steadies your hands and carries you through.”
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