For as long as I can remember, I have been the person people come to when things fall apart. Friends, family, classmates, even colleagues, they all know that I will pick up the phone and sit there to listen. That I will offer a word or two that makes them feel seen, even if I’m running on empty myself. And because I’ve always been that person, the calm one, the patient one, the understanding one, most people assume I don’t need anything back.
But here’s the truth I rarely say out loud: I get tired too. I get lonely, I break down and cry in the bathroom. I sometimes wish someone, anyone, would sit down beside me and say, “Talk. I’m listening.”
Because, being the listener that no one listens to? It’s a quiet kind of heartbreak. The kind that doesn’t explode, but lingers. The kind you carry around every day without knowing how to name it.
Where It All Began
I think it started in childhood, like many of our deepest patterns. I grew up in a household where emotions weren’t always allowed to be loud, especially if you were the first daughter. You learn quickly how to be responsible. How to sense the room. How to make yourself useful. No one asks how you feel because they assume you’re fine. You’re strong. You always bounce back.
As a Nigerian girl, being emotionally available is often seen as a sign of maturity. People praised me for being “wise beyond my years,” but what that meant was that I had learned how to suppress my own needs to support other people’s. I had learned how to listen without expecting to be heard. That became my default mode, and honestly, it followed me into every friendship and relationship I’ve ever had.
I don’t think people are intentionally selfish. I think most of them have just gotten used to me being the one who gives. The one who checks in. The one who remembers birthdays, notices the change in someone’s tone, and sends a “Checking on you” text. But it’s hard not to notice when the same care isn’t given back.
When Listening Becomes Exhausting
You think listening is easy, it’s just being quiet and nodding, right? But real listening, the kind that makes people feel safe and understood, takes emotional energy. It means absorbing people’s pain, even when you are in pain yourself. It means remembering small details, holding space, offering comfort, and doing it without judgment.
Now imagine doing that over and over again without anyone doing the same for you.
That’s where it gets exhausting.
I have had friends talk for hours about their lives and never pause to ask about mine. I’ve sat through voice notes, texts, and long phone calls, only to receive a “You are strong, you will be fine” when I finally share something difficult. And it’s not that I need anyone to fix my problems, I just want to be listened to with the same intentional care I give to others.
There was a time in my life when I was struggling with a lot: career confusion, financial instability, health issues, and emotional burnout, but no one noticed. I was still showing up, still checking in, still doing “the right things,” so people assumed I was okay. I remember telling a friend that I was overwhelmed, and her response was, “But you are always so composed.” That one sentence stuck with me. It made me feel invisible. It made me realise how much of myself I’ve hidden just to keep being the “strong one.”
Why It Hurts So Much
The pain isn’t just about being ignored. It’s about feeling like your emotions are inconvenient. Like, your voice doesn’t matter. Your presence is only valuable when you’re useful.
And if you are like me, you start to question yourself. You wonder if maybe you are too much when you open up. Or not interesting enough. Or maybe it’s your fault that people don’t listen back.
But that is not true. The truth is, people get used to what you allow. And if you’ve been the one always holding space, always showing up, always carrying the emotional weight, without ever asking for the same in return, then people will assume you’re okay with it.
They’re wrong. And you don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine when you’re not.
The Listener’s Secret Resentment
One of the hardest things I’ve had to admit to myself is that sometimes, I feel resentment. I love the people in my life, but I resent the emotional imbalance. I resent being the one who sends the check-in messages, makes the plans, holds the space, and then gets silence when I need support.
This resentment is quiet and complicated. It’s not loud enough to end relationships, but it’s deep enough to make them feel one-sided. It makes you second-guess your worth. It makes you wonder if people love you for who you are or just for what you give them.
And the worst part? You feel guilty for even thinking these thoughts. You feel selfish for wanting attention. For wanting to be listened to. For wanting someone to hold your feelings without rushing you to get over it.
But you’re not selfish. You’re human. You deserve care, too.
On The Blog: How to Balance Multiple Responsibilities Without Burning Out
What I’ve Been Learning
Over the last year, I’ve been trying to unlearn some of these patterns. It hasn’t been easy. Speaking up for myself still feels strange. Setting boundaries feels awkward. But I’ve started to realise that if I don’t protect my emotional energy, I’ll keep burning out.
Here’s what I’ve been learning: maybe it’ll help you, too.
1. People won’t always know what you need unless you say it.
I used to expect people to notice when I was struggling, the way I noticed it in them. But not everyone has that emotional awareness. Now, I try to say, “I need someone to just listen right now,” or “Can I vent without being given advice?” It’s a small shift, but it makes a big difference.
2. You’re allowed to step back.
It’s okay not to be available all the time. It’s okay to let some messages sit unread. You don’t have to pick up every call or solve every crisis. If you’re not emotionally okay, it’s not your job to provide stability for others.
3. Find your listeners.
I’ve started seeking out relationships, whether it’s friends, therapists, or community spaces, where I can be held, too. Spaces where I can talk without filtering. Where I can be messy and still loved. That’s what healing feels like.
4. You’re not here to carry everyone.
This one is hard, especially if you grew up being the responsible one. But carrying everyone else while neglecting yourself is not love, it’s codependency. And it will leave you drained. Let people carry their weight. You don’t have to catch everyone.
To Those Reading This
I see you.
You, the one who shows up for everyone but yourself.
You, who stays up late listening to others cry, but has no one to call when your own heart is breaking.
You, who’s been praised for being strong, dependable, and mature, but secretly wishes someone would take care of you for once.
You’re not alone in this.
I know it feels like no one understands. Like you’re walking through life as a background character in other people’s stories. But your voice matters. Your feelings matter. Your exhaustion matters.
You don’t have to stay silent. You don’t have to keep shrinking. You don’t have to keep giving until there’s nothing left of you.
Start small. Start with honesty. Start by telling one person how you feel. And if they can’t hold space for you, it’s okay to step away. You deserve relationships that pour back into you.
You’ve listened to everyone else; maybe it’s time to listen to yourself.
What do you need today?
Whatever it is, I hope you give it to yourself without guilt.
Want to Go Deeper?
I’ve created a gentle reflection guide, named ‘A Guide for the Listener Who No One Listens To‘, because of this post. It’s a guide to unpack your relationship with being “the listener,” to name what you need, and to start practising what it feels like to be heard
Let’s Talk in the Comments…
- Have you ever felt like the listener who no one listens to? What was that moment like for you?
- What’s one thing you wish people understood about you that they often overlook?
- How do you take care of yourself emotionally after listening to others?
- Have you found someone who truly listens to you? If yes, what makes that relationship feel safe?