Johneta Ohler Poet Spoken Word

A moment before 2nd shift

I sit in the driveway
longer than I should.

Car off.
House dark.

Little silhouettes moving past the curtains.
And I just...

sit.

Because inside that door
is another shift.

and I haven’t even recovered
from the first one...

Work drained me today.

Not the kind of tired
that sleep fixes.

The kind that sits behind your eyes
and makes everything feel loud.
The kind where one more “Can you?”
might break you.

All day I gave.
Gave patience.
Gave effort.
Gave smiles that felt like overtime.

I swallowed frustration
like it was part of the uniform.
Nodded when I wanted to scream.
Stayed late because bills don’t care
if I’m exhausted.

And now…

Now my body feels like a phone on 2%.
No charger in sight.
But through the windshield
I see their shadows.
Tiny humans
who don’t know
how close I am
to tears.

Tiny humans
who only know
that when I walk in
the house feels safe.

So I sit here

and cry first.

Quiet.

Ugly.

Steering-wheel confession kind of cry.

Because sometimes it sucks.
It sucks doing it alone.
It sucks being the only adult in the room
every room.

It sucks never having someone say,
“I got dinner tonight. You rest.”
It sucks being strong
when what I want
is to be held.

I am frustrated.
At the dishes.
At the laundry.
At the math homework I barely understand.
At the way my back aches
like I’m carrying more than groceries.

Because I am.

I am carrying a whole future.

And nobody tells you
how heavy love can be
when it’s all yours to lift.

But here’s the truth...

I whisper to myself
before I open that door:

You are tired.
But you are not weak.

You are overwhelmed.
But you are not failing.

You are exhausted.
But you are showing up.

And that

is everything.

So I wipe my face...

Practice a smile
like armor.
Step out of the car.
Open the door.
And suddenly it’s
“Mom!”

Arms around my legs.

Sticky hands.

Stories about their day.

And the tired doesn’t disappear.

But it softens.

Because this...

this chaos,
this noise,
this second shift

Is proof
that even on my worst days

I am somebody’s whole world.

So yeah...

I cry in the car.
And then I walk inside
and build a life anyways.

That’s not weakness.
That’s resilience with mascara running.
And we do it
every single day.

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