The Weight of Being the Cheerleader

Working as a Creative Director at a mental health clinic comes with a very specific kind of pressure. My job is to create content that uplifts, encourages, and reminds people that healing is possible. I am the person behind the scenes shaping the voice of hope, positivity, and emotional support for a community that deeply needs it. I love that about my work. I believe in what we put out. I believe in the messages. But sometimes I struggle to live by the same words I share with others.

There are days when I am writing about resilience, connection, or self care while quietly feeling disconnected from my own sense of balance. I will schedule content about mindfulness while realizing I have not had a real moment of stillness in days. I will design a campaign encouraging people to rest while surviving on skipped meals, deadlines, and barely enough sleep to function. The words are real. The intent is sincere. But there is a quiet tension that builds when what you say and what you live start to drift apart.

We talk a lot about burnout in this field. We talk about boundaries and compassion fatigue. But no one really talks about what it feels like to be the emotional engine of a space. To be the steady voice. The unofficial cheerleader. The person who lifts everyone else up even on the days when you are barely holding it together yourself. That kind of responsibility does not show up in a job description, but it is a very real part of what I do. Some days it is heavy, not because I do not care, but because I care so much and forget to leave anything for myself.

There is another layer to it that people do not always see. I am not just the external voice of encouragement. I am also the internal cheerleader. I am the one tracking work anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, and every appreciation day throughout the year. Administrative Professionals Day. Nurse Practitioner Week. Mental Health Awareness Month. I do not like missing any of them. I do not want anyone to feel overlooked.

I also try to support everything. If someone posts in a team channel, I engage. If someone shares an achievement, I amplify it. If a department launches something new, I promote it. Part of that is strategy because engagement builds engagement. But part of it is simply who I am. I want people to feel seen and supported. I want them to show up for each other, and I want to lead by example.

What people do not see is the constant mental checklist running in the background. The calendar reminders. The pressure of not dropping the ball. The 100+ prescheduled messages that I have typed and re-typed over and over again. The quiet fear of missing someone’s moment. When your role centers around culture, morale, and voice, silence can feel like failure. And if I am being honest, there is a human side to it too. When you consistently support others, you hope for that same support in return. You hope your posts are engaged with. You hope your work is acknowledged. You hope someone notices the effort happening behind the scenes.

A lot of the time, it is not noticed. Outside of the work anniversaries and birthday posts, participation can be quiet. The engagement does not always match the effort. Some initiatives land softly. Some messages go unanswered. You build something thoughtfully, schedule it carefully, support everyone else consistently, and then watch it sit with little response. It is not that people are unkind. Everyone is busy. Everyone has their own load. But when you are the one consistently showing up, the absence of reciprocity can feel louder than the silence itself.

It is a lot to juggle. The public encouragement. The internal celebration. The expectation to be present, thoughtful, and consistent across multiple spaces at once. None of it feels transactional, but it can feel heavy. The weight does not come from not caring. It comes from caring deeply and sometimes stretching yourself too thin.

There is guilt in encouraging people to ask for help when I do not always know how to do it myself. There is guilt in posting about rest when I have not given myself permission to slow down. It does not feel fake, but it does feel conflicted. Like I am always one step behind my own advice.

If I am honest, I have a strong perfectionist streak. I want things done thoroughly and intentionally. I trust my own standard because I know how much care I put into the work. Letting go feels risky. Depending on someone else to execute at that same level feels uncertain. So I step in, I handle it, and I absorb the pressure that comes with that choice.

Over time, I have had to remind myself that believing in the healing process does not require me to be finished with my own growth and healing. I can speak truth into the lives of others while still navigating it myself. I can show up and do meaningful work even when I do not feel like my best self. That does not make me a hypocrite. It makes me human.

Maybe the point is not to be the perfect model of mental wellness. Maybe the point is to be honest. Honest when I am tired. Honest when I need to step back. Honest enough to say I am not okay today without feeling like I am failing the role I hold.

This does not have a big takeaway or a polished call to action. It is simply a moment of clarity. A reminder to myself that I am allowed to be tired. I am allowed to still be learning how to practice what I preach. I am allowed to rest without earning it first. And if you are someone who is always holding it together for others, you are allowed to be human too. You do not have to be the light all the time. Some days, it is enough to just be.