The Problem with Being "The Strong One"

Things I Almost Told You #8

I think people misunderstand strength all the time.

They think it looks calm.

Capable.
Steady.
Unshaken.

But sometimes strength is just panic with good posture.

Sometimes it’s a woman answering emails while her nervous system quietly chews through drywall.

I became “the strong one” very early.

Not officially.
Nobody hands you a certificate.

You just slowly realize:
“Oh. I am apparently the person who survives things.”

And at first that identity feels almost noble.

You become dependable.
Resourceful.
Funny in emergencies.

People admire your resilience while standing comfortably outside the blast radius.

What they often do not realize is that highly capable people are frequently just highly practiced at functioning while overwhelmed.

Those are not the same skill.

The trouble with being “the strong one” is that eventually people stop checking whether you’re tired.

They assume competence means capacity.

So you become the person who:

• figures it out

• handles it

• absorbs it

• carries it

• survives it

Even when your internal world looks like a Dollar General after a weather event.

And honestly?
I think some of us become strong because weakness felt unsafe.

Because somebody had to stay standing.
Because chaos was already occupying the room.
Because collapsing was not logistically available at the time.

That kind of strength can save your life.

But it can also quietly become a prison.

You stop asking for help because you’ve become too good at appearing fine.

You start believing your usefulness is the reason people keep loving you.

And rest begins to feel suspicious.
Like irresponsibility wearing sweatpants.

I’ve been thinking lately about how often women are praised for endurance while secretly starving for gentleness.

Not advice.
Not admiration.

Gentleness.

A place where they do not have to be impressive to be worthy of care.

And maybe that’s why so many strong women become exhausted in invisible ways.

Because carrying everything eventually teaches your body to brace even during beautiful moments.

But I don’t think healing means becoming fragile.

I think it means finally realizing strength was never supposed to mean carrying the entire cathedral alone.

Some things are meant to be shared weight.

Some things are meant to be set down.

And some versions of survival are only temporary scaffolding — not identities you’re meant to live inside forever.

I am trying to learn that now.

Slowly.
Awkwardly.
With occasional emotional support rotisserie chicken.

Anyway.

I almost told you that sooner.

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🐞 6 Days Until Ladybug Ladybug
This week’s flower: The Lotus
Heal Like a Lady — by Aprilynn Maurer

Healing is not becoming untouched again.

It is becoming honest about the cracks and discovering light still enters there anyway.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

Some flowers bloom directly out of the mud. You will not want to miss this!