Love Without the Load

They called her the Culture Cre8or.

Elder Grace was known throughout the town not for riches or power, but for her gift of healing hearts with stories.

She walked slowly through gardens and along stone paths, often gathering children, parents, and weary workers under the great oak tree in the square. Her words carried the kind of truth that people felt long after they left her side.

One afternoon, as the townspeople leaned in, the Culture Cre8or began yet another tale:

:

Pebblestone was a quiet and qaint town where everyone carried a backpack. Some backpacks were bright and colorful, while others were old and patched up, but each was filled with more than books or supplies. Inside were invisible weights: worries, dreams, fears, and old stories people carried with them every day.

Maya, a young girl in Pebblestone, was a kind child. Whenever she saw someone struggling under the weight of their backpack, she rushed to help. ‘Here, let me carry it for you,’ she would say, lifting their bag onto her own small shoulders. People admired her generosity, but over time Maya’s back ached, her steps grew slower, and she grew weary from carrying so many backpacks that weren’t her own.

One day, Maya came across a younger girl sitting on a bench, tears rolling down her cheeks. The child’s backpack looked far too heavy for her small frame. Maya’s heart ached. She bent down and whispered, ‘Don’t cry, I’ll carry it for you.’

But I was there that day. I placed a hand on Maya’s shoulder and said:‘ Child, if you carry her backpack, how will she ever learn that she’s strong enough?’

Maya froze. She stepped back and watched as the girl, still sniffling, adjusted her straps and rose to her feet. With each shaky step, the child grew steadier, discovering her own strength in the struggle.

That night, Maya dreamed she was walking through the town square. She saw people everywhere, backpacks dragging along the ground. Then she spotted her own. She picked it up and peeked inside. There she discovered her own stories—moments she felt ‘not good enough,’ the guilt she carried, the voices from her past telling her to ‘dry it up’ or ‘stop crying.’ For the first time, she realized she had been so busy carrying everyone else’s load that she had neglected her own.

From that day on, Maya chose differently. She still walked beside people. She still encouraged them, offered rest, and reminded them of their strength. But she no longer carried what wasn’t hers. Instead, she would smile and say, ‘I believe you can carry your backpack. And I’ll be right here as you do.’

As people learned to carry their own backpacks, the town began to slowly change. People stood a little taller. They stumbled sometimes, but they also discovered their resilience. And Maya? She found peace, because she was finally carrying only what belonged to her.

Reflection from The Culture Cre8or

The Culture Cre8or turned her gaze from the circle under the oak tree to you, dear reader.

“We all carry backpacks,” she said softly. “Some are heavy, some are light. But remember this: love does not mean carrying another’s load. Love means walking beside them, reminding them they are strong enough, while you tend to your own.”

She leaned in closer:

• Whose backpack are you carrying that does not belong to you?

• How would your life feel lighter if you set it down?

• What’s inside your own backpack that you need to face with courage?

  
  

The Culture Cre8or smiled gently. The town had grown lighter when Maya learned this truth. And so can your heart.

Love without the load—and you will find peace.

From Niki

This story is personal for me. As a mom, I’ve often carried the weight of my children’s emotions, feeling responsible for their reactions or struggles. But over time, I’ve realized that carrying their “backpacks” doesn’t help them—and it drains me. The truth is, we each must be responsible for our own growth.

Whether you’re a parent, a teacher, or a leader, the temptation to take on someone else’s load is real. But real love means walking beside, not carrying for. I hope this story reminds you—as it reminded me—that responsibility begins with knowing what is yours to hold and what you must release.