Dear Younger Sis-in-Law,

Today I realized something rather uncomfortable.

Apparently, I have spent years being the emergency generator for everyone else's life.

Whenever somebody's lights went out—“Dika will figure it out.”

Whenever somebody needed help— “Dika will find a way.”

Whenever money disappeared — “Dika will manage somehow.”

Whenever life became inconvenient— “Dika can handle it.”

And you know what?  For a very long time, I did.

Not because I was rich. Not because I had some secret vault underneath my mattress.

Not because money grew from my ass every time somebody called me with a problem.

I just kept scraping. Again. And again. And again.

Until there wasn't much left to scrape. But apparently that wasn't obvious enough.

Because today I found myself listening to conversations about expenses, debts, children, household problems, and money— while my own life is currently standing in the middle of a fucking divorce.

My marriage is ending. I'm trying to find a job. I'm trying to rebuild my finances.

I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to stand on my own two feet again.

I'm trying to recover from years of emotional exhaustion.

And somehow  

I'm still expected to hear about everybody else's financial emergencies.

Amazing. Truly. My life is currently an administrative horror movie,

and apparently the universe thought: **“You know what this needs? A subplot.”** 😂

Dear younger sis-in-law, I don't blame you for having problems.

Everyone has problems. Children cost money.

Marriage costs money. Life costs money.

Being an adult is basically an expensive subscription service nobody remembers signing up for.

I understand that. What I don't understand is how easily people forget that the person they're talking to might also be drowning.

Just because I don't announce every fucking wave doesn't mean I'm standing on dry land.

I've been quiet about my own problems for a long time. Maybe too quiet.

I've carried things privately. I've borrowed.  

I've pawned things. I've gone without. 

I've looked at bills and calculated which problem could wait another week.

I've smiled when I wanted to scream. 

I've said, “I'll figure it out.”

So many times that apparently everyone started believing it was a superpower.

It isn't. It's exhaustion with good PR.

And today, while listening to someone else's financial panic, I had this strange thought: When did being the person who helps become the same thing as being the person everyone assumes will always have something left?

Because here's the truth.

Sometimes there is nothing left. Sometimes the cupboard is empty.

Sometimes the account is terrifying. 

Sometimes the person everyone thinks is strong is quietly wondering how the fuck she's going to survive the next month.

And sometimes she is still expected to be generous. Still expected to understand.

Still expected to reassure everyone else. Still expected to say: “It's okay.”

No. Maybe it's not okay.

Maybe I'm tired. Maybe I don't have another hidden reserve.

Maybe the emergency fund is currently just my nervous system.

And trust me— that account is overdrawn. 😂

 

There is also something I need to say to myself.

I have spent too many years believing that if I don't help, I'm selfish.

That if someone is struggling and I have even a tiny bit of capacity, I should give it away.

That being useful somehow proves I'm a good person.

But there's a difference between generosity and slowly turning yourself into a public utility.

I am not a fucking water company.  You cannot keep turning the tap on because you assume there will always be water.

Eventually somebody has to notice the reservoir is empty. And mine is.

Or at least, it's dangerously close.

 

So, dear younger sis-in-law, I genuinely hope things get better for you.

I hope your debts become manageable. I hope your children are healthy.

I hope your household becomes lighter. 

I hope you don't have to live with that constant pressure of wondering where the next payment is coming from.

I mean that. 

 

But I also need to learn something I should have learned much earlier: Your emergency is not automatically my responsibility.

And my exhaustion doesn't become less real because somebody else's problem sounds louder.

That's not cruelty. That's a boundary.

Apparently boundaries are the new luxury item in this family.

Very expensive. Very difficult to obtain. Limited stock. 😂

 

And maybe this is the part that will sound savage. Fine. Let it.

Because I've spent enough time trying to make everybody comfortable while I was uncomfortable.

I've spent enough time shrinking my own needs because someone else had bigger ones.

I've spent enough time thinking: “Maybe next month.”

Maybe next month I'll worry about myself. Maybe next month I'll save something.

Maybe next month I'll buy what I need. Maybe next month I'll breathe.

Except somehow, next month kept becoming another year.

And I am done donating my future to everybody else's present.

I need my life back. I need money. I need work. I need stability.

I need my own savings. 

I need to stop living like one unexpected expense could push the entire structure over.

I need to rebuild something that belongs to me. 

Not because I suddenly became selfish.

Because I finally understand that I cannot rescue people from a sinking boat while I'm quietly drilling holes into my own. 

And yes, I know what people might say. “But family should help family.”

Absolutely. Family should help family.

But family should also understand when another family member is barely keeping herself afloat.

Love isn't supposed to mean: “How much more can we take from the person who has always given?”

That's not family. That's an unpaid position with unlimited responsibilities and absolutely no retirement plan. 😂

 

And here's the part nobody wants to hear: I am not financially okay.

I am not emotionally okay. I am not magically fine because I managed to smile.

I'm rebuilding. 

 

From fucking rubble.  And I don't know exactly how long it's going to take.

Maybe that's embarrassing. Maybe it isn't. But it's the truth.

So if I seem quieter about money lately, if I stop offering, if I stop rescuing,

if I start calculating every rupiah before I spend it,

please don't mistake that for me becoming cold. I'm trying to survive.

There is a difference. 

I spent years being the person who found another solution.

Now I need to become the person who finds one for herself.

And maybe that's the most savage thing I can do.

 

Not scream. Not fight. Not blame. Not explain myself for three hours.

Just quietly stop being everybody's backup plan.

Because I have finally realized something: I cannot keep building other people's roofs while standing outside in the rain.

So, dear younger sis-in-law, I hope you understand.

I am not angry that you have problems. I'm angry that somewhere along the way,

my ability to survive became everybody else's assumption that I would always have something left to give.

I don't. Not right now. Maybe someday I will.

Maybe someday I'll be financially comfortable enough that a five-hundred-million-rupiah-sized problem won't sound like the apocalypse. 😂

But today? 

 

Today I'm looking at my own life and thinking: Dika, girl. For once, save something for yourself.

Save the money. Save the energy. Save the strength.

Save the little piece of yourself that keeps getting handed out because everyone assumes you'll make another one tomorrow.

Because maybe the woman who has spent years saying, “Don't worry. I'll figure it out.”

finally deserves to say: “Actually, I'm figuring out my own life first.”

And no, that doesn't make me heartless. It makes me fucking tired.

There's a difference. And after everything I've survived,

I think I'm finally allowed to choose myself without writing a seventeen-page apology afterward.

So yes.

Dear younger sis-in-law, I hope things get better. I really do.

But please understand something: I am no longer the emergency fund.

I am the emergency. 

 

And this time, I'm saving myself.