(Why βDrop It Like Itβs Hotβ Is the Only Way)
Here is the thing about other peopleβs baggage: they never hand it to you gently.
They drop it.
Right in front of you.
Sometimes mid-sentence, sometimes mid-relationship,
and always with that wide-eyed look that says,
βWell? Are you not going to pick it up?β
And because we are good people β compassionate, capable, raised on pop psychology and self-sacrifice β we do.
We collect their apologies, their unhealed traumas, their broken promises, and start sorting them like recyclables.
We tell ourselves it is empathy. But it is just unpaid labour with better branding.
Not everything dropped is yours to carry.
Sometimes the kindest thing you can do β for both of you β is to let it hit the floor.
Clatter, roll, make whatever noise it needs to.
Walk away before you start bubble-wrapping it in excuses.
βDrop it like itβs hotβ is not just a song; it is a spiritual directive.
Hot things burn. Set them down before they scar you.
Not every wounded person is your project.
Not every confession is a call to arms.
Some stories are not meant to be rescued; they are meant to end.
So next time someone lobs their chaos at your feet, breathe.
Look at it. Recognise that it exists.
Then step over it in your nicest shoes and keep walking.
That is not cruelty β that is self-respect.
You do not have to be the lost-and-found for other peopleβs broken pieces.
Let them learn what it means to pick up after themselves.
Because your hands?
They are meant for building, creating, living β not constantly catching what someone else keeps dropping.
