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Not My Monkey, Not My Circus
- Nikki
- Jan 21
- 3 min read
Want to Listen Instead:
There comes a point in healing when you realize something quiet powerful: some things were never meant for you to carry.
Not every problem placed in your lap belongs there. Not every emotional mess requires your cleanup. Not every person who unloads on you deserves continued access to your energy.
And yet, many of us were taught, explicitly or subtly...that being kind means holding space at our own expense.
That being loving means absorbing chaos.
That being strong means enduring whatever is handed to us.
But strength can also look like letting go.
Some people move through life like emotional Tasmanian devils. They spin in, loud and chaotic, flinging their unresolved pain, stress, and dysfunction in every direction. They unload their anger, their trauma, their drama and then walk away, lighter for it.
Meanwhile, you’re left standing there, holding the mess, wondering why you feel so heavy.
They rarely ask how it impacts you.
They rarely notice what you’re already carrying.
They rarely stay long enough to help clean up what they’ve left behind.
For a long time, you might think it’s your responsibility. You might believe that if you just listen harder, help more, or care deeper, things will feel different. But eventually, the pattern becomes undeniable: you are exhausted, and nothing has changed.
That’s where detachment begins.
Detachment isn’t coldness. It isn’t punishment. It isn’t a lack of compassion. It’s clarity.
It’s understanding that empathy does not require self-abandonment. That caring does not mean carrying. That boundaries are not walls, they’re filters.
Meaning, a wall shuts everything out, usually built from pain or survival. A filter allows you to stay open without taking on what doesn’t belong to you. It lets empathy pass through, but stops chaos at the door. A filter asks, Is this mine to hold? Do I have the capacity for this? And when the answer is no, nothing is broken, you simply choose not to carry what was never yours. That’s not coldness. That’s discernment.
Learning to let go of things that were never meant for you to hold takes time and practice. At first, it feels uncomfortable. You might notice guilt surface. You might feel selfish. You might even question whether you’re being “too much” or “not enough.”
That’s normal.
When you’ve spent years absorbing other people’s chaos, releasing it can feel unnatural, like dropping something you were told to keep holding. But over time, the relief becomes noticeable. The emotional weight lifts. Your nervous system settles. You start to recognize what actually belongs to you.
Then, when those familiar patterns show up again; when someone enters your space ready to unload, spin, and disappear, you pause.
You breathe.
And you remind yourself:
Not my monkey.
Not my circus.
This mantra isn’t dismissive, it’s protective. It’s a reminder that you get to choose what you engage with. That you don’t owe access to everyone. That your peace is not collateral damage for someone else’s avoidance of their own work.
You’re allowed to step back. You’re allowed to say no internally, even if you say "No" little out loud. You’re allowed to let people manage their own mess.
The truth is this: What was never meant for you to hold will only weigh you down.
Letting go doesn’t mean you failed. It means you finally listened to yourself.
Here is your reminder that sometimes, letting go is all you can do and that's okay.
A Gentle Invitation
If this resonated, I created a free guided practice called The Art of Letting Go — a quiet space to release what was never yours to carry and reconnect with your own sense of calm.
It’s there whenever you’re ready.
