I am the strong one.  The unbreakable rock in the midst of everyone else's turmoil.  I listen to little Etcetera as she whines because Tugger won't look twice at her. I console Victoria, telling her that the other kittens DO like her, they just haven't matured as fast as she has.  I quiet Demeter when she is fearful of Macavity, I reassure Mistoffelees that his magic is useful and not just amusing, I even listen to Munkustrap as he unloads the weight of the tribe from his shoulders and places it on mine. 

Sometimes, all I need is someone to listen to me.

I have Skimbleshanks.  Thank the Everlasting Cat for him, or I might just break down in front of everyone one day.  He is one of the few cats that has ever seen me really cry.  Not just the sniffling, watery-eyed crying that’s appropriate for kittens being born and funerals and mating ceremonies: full-out, broken-hearted, desperate, wounded crying.  He knows how sensitive I really am, although I appear to be hardened and wise.  He knows that, although I'm wonderful at giving others advice and self-esteem boosters, I don't know how to listen to myself. 

It’s seldom that I even let him see me break down; I don't do it that often, really.  I push everything aside, letting little issues pile on top of one another until it's all one big conglomerated issue that I just can't handle anymore, and then suddenly the floodgates open and my heart pours out through my tears.  Skimbleshanks has seen it happen, as has Jellylorum on occasion.  They're the only ones that really know, the only ones who have had to listen to my desperation.  Somehow, they understand.

No one else does.  Everyone comes to the Gumbie for counsel and advice, but hardly anyone ever stops to think that sometimes, their rock needs to be listened to.  There are times when Skimble is away on the trains and Jellylorum is sound asleep in her own home that I lie awake and wonder if that's all I am to the Jellicles; a rock, to be used at their various whims. 

It's my fault, I suppose.  I don't let them know that I have feelings other than compassion and sympathy.  I don’t let them hear me crying.  I don't let them see that I'm not always cheerful and helpful, that there are times when I just wish I could stop taking care of everyone else and start taking care of myself for once.  If I look sad and it’s not because of someone else’s obvious problem, they ask me, "What's wrong, Jenny?".  I just smile and say, "Oh, nothing, dear!  I'm fine!  Suppose I was just thinking, that’s all!"

Rocks aren't supposed to cry.