The Price of Being “Strong”
There’s a question that has been burning inside me for a long time, and it’s one I can’t keep swallowing anymore:
Where is my grace? Who gives me sympathy?
As Gypsy and Traveller staff, we are expected to work through our traumas — not only the deep wounds of our past, but the fresh ones that are inflicted on us every single day.
We are expected to smile. To be polite. To thank people for breadcrumbs of fair treatment… even when those same people took the bread from our table in the first place.
We learn to tiptoe around the needs, moods, and requirements of non-Gypsy or Traveller colleagues, putting our own struggles aside to keep the peace. We soften our words. We wear the “acceptable” face.
We are asked — endlessly — to speak about our people’s realities: the mental health crisis in our communities, the poor physical health, the overcrowded living conditions, the educational inequalities, the daily racism.
But here’s the thing: because we hold work titles, people act as though we are somehow immune. As though the moment we clock in, the prejudice, grief, and exhaustion can be shrugged off like a coat.
It doesn’t work like that.
Our titles don’t protect us. They make us feel it even more deeply. Because we see it up close, every day, in all its detail. We see the faces, hear the stories, absorb the pain — and carry it home alongside our own.
And the worst part of the burden, I hear my gorja colleagues and counterparts talking of burnout!
Burnout isn’t an option for us, we can’t choose a new path to walk down! We have one path and regardless of where we go, the mountain to climb stays right in front of us! If we give up, we die!
The Weight We Carry
It’s a weight you feel in your chest, in your bones, in the heaviness behind your eyes. And for many of us, it’s not the only weight we carry.
If you’re a mother, you’re likely also the full-time cook, cleaner, carer, and emotional anchor. You might have a partner present, but as many Gypsy women will tell you, the reality of co-parenting often doesn’t match the expectations society places on working mothers.
Add to that the roles of wife, daughter, sister, community member — and then stack your professional responsibilities on top.
It’s all on our shoulders.
And if you happen to be the CEO? That load doesn’t lighten. In fact, it can get even heavier. Because when you’re the one holding the organisation together, who asks you if you’re okay?
When staff tell you they’re stressed and overwhelmed, and you’re doing everything you can to support them despite being understaffed and underfunded, who turns to you and says, “I understand. This isn’t your fault”?
The Dismissal That Stings
I once shared with trustees that Gypsy and Traveller staff were feeling crushed under the weight of their roles, and that the mental load they carry wasn’t being recognised.
The response that stuck with me?
“Some people just get on with it.”
Yes. We do. We have got on with it — for decades, for generations. And maybe that’s exactly why our suicide rates are so high. Why our mental health statistics are so bleak. Why our life expectancy remains so low.
Because we keep getting on with it. Because our heavy load is invisible. It’s not seen. It’s not acknowledged.
We are expected, by everyone, to present as our White British job title.
I’m Done — For Now
I’ve reached the point where I need to call it out. I’m not sure who’s listening, and I’m not sure exactly who it’s for, but I refuse to stay silent any longer.
I refuse to keep missing precious time away from my child without saying these truths out loud.
I’m done.
At least for the next 20 minutes.
And then, I’ll put on the colonially approved smile. I’ll pick up the weight again. And I’ll start all over.
