The Quiet Ant

The Ant Who Carried Too Much

There once lived a small ant in a thriving ant colony beneath the roots of an old tree, neither the fastest, the strongest, nor, by far, the cleverest of her kind. She did not construct the tallest towers or plow the deepest tunnels. She did not race or solve puzzles. Still, she had something lost that never, ever went away.

She felt things deeply. Where else marched through struggle, she lingered. Where others averted their eyes from fatigue, she leaned in. When the fellow ant dropped its load or tripped on the rough soil, she'd stop to pick up the load or lend a shoulder. She had seen what others missed.

Then the colony grew reliant on her. Not officially, of course no one actually said it. But in a muted way, in a natural way, they leaned into her presence. If a tunnel needed reinforcement, they were sure she'd take care of it. She'd scoop it up if grain was left behind. If someone lagged behind, she'd go back to push or drag them along.

She never complained. She never asked for help. And no one offered if she did need some. They never thought the same fatigue could set in for her. She had rendered herself necessary and unseen in the process.

She did her own paying work every day. Then she did someone else's. Then another's. All the while, she repeated to herself: ''Just a little more. Soon everything will be okay. What matters is that everyone else is comfortable.'' She lived like that, in quiet service, convincing herself she could go on indefinitely.

But forever isn't as long as you think.

One day, the burden of her responsibilities overhead growing heavier, she saw her legs shaking. Her body no longer responded with that same certainty. Food felt heavier, the grains of it. The tunnels seemed longer. Her vision, always searching for somebody who needed help, started to fade from weariness.

Still, she pressed on.

An ant came dragging one that was heavy. She had called up her last strength and nodded.

Another requested assistance in completing a task. She smiled weakly and agreed.

One posted, ''You always have time, can you do mine too?''

And so she did. Again.

Until her legs finally buckled under her fatigue. Her body slumped down into the soft earth. The activity of the colony continued around her, a blur of thudding footsteps and chatter. But no one realized she had stopped moving.

''They probably are somewhere else,'' they said initially. ''She'll be back soon.''

But days passed.

The tunnels began to sag. The grains lay scattered. The ants stumbled, and no one was around to steady them.

It didn't take long for whispers to spread through the colony. ''Something's wrong.'' ''Where is she?'' ''Why isn't she helping?''

They searched. But she was nowhere to be seen.

An old ant, who had seen many seasons come and go, alone at the edge of the colony sighed, ''She's gone.''

The colony fell silent.

''Why didn't she tell us she was tired? one ant asked.

Another one said, ''Did anyone ever ask her how she was?

There was no answer.

They had grown so accustomed to her generosity, they mistook it for infinity. She was their safety net, their second set of hands, their unsung hero. But no one had witnessed her breaking.

And in the silence, a quiet truth settled around them: they had loved her presence, but had never looked into her heart.

There's one of those in your house, too.

They’re the ones who say ''yes'' when they’re still running on empty. The ones that keep it all together with no payment. They are the ones who bear the burdens of others silently.

Look closely. Ask them how they are.

Before their legs give out.

Before they disappear.