I’m writing this in the middle of work. I took a short break.

There are papers on my desk. Messages waiting to be answered. A follow-up I still need to send. A task that I have to prepare for. The usual rhythm of public service. Urgent. Important. Never really finished.

And as I sat here for a few minutes, I realized something.

There is a kind of love that grows quietly in public service.

It shows up early. It stays a little longer than it should. It answers messages even after dinner. It carries other people’s worries home and thinks about them before sleeping.

You tell yourself it’s part of the job. And it is.

But somewhere between the meetings and the deadlines, between the signatures and the follow-ups, you begin to feel tired in a way that sleep cannot fix.

Because public service does not only ask for your skills.
It asks for your heart.

You care about the mothers waiting for assistance. The children who need protection. The staff who are trying their best with limited resources. You care when programs are delayed. You care when funds are not released on time. You care when people misunderstand the work.

You carry all of it.

And slowly, without noticing, you start measuring your worth by how much you accomplish. By how much you fix. By how much you endure.

If the reports are submitted, you feel useful.
If the targets are met, you feel enough.
If there are delays, you feel responsible.

But you were already enough before the targets.

Loving public service should not mean losing yourself inside it.

You are more than your designation. More than your performance rating. More than the problems you solve.

You are a wife. A husband. A son. A daughter. A friend. A person with dreams and private prayers. A person who also needs rest.

It is okay to care deeply and still set boundaries.
It is okay to serve and still choose your family first.
It is okay to log out.

Service is not a competition on who can suffer the most. It is a commitment to show up consistently, with integrity, for the long run.

And to do that, you must remain whole.

Public service is noble. But your health matters. Your peace matters. Your home matters.

You can love the work.
You can give your best.

Just don’t disappear in the process.