I’m Tired of Being Strong

I’m tired of being strong. There - I said it.

Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes. This is the kind that lives in your bones. The kind that lingers even after a good day. The kind that whispers, “Don’t break. Don’t bend. Just keep going.” And for most of my life, I’ve listened.

I was labeled “the strong one” before I even knew what that meant.

During my parents’ divorce in my teens, I learned how to swallow sadness and hold space for others' pain. I didn’t fall apart - because someone had to hold it together.

In my early twenties, I became a wife and a mother - babies in tow, one on my hip and one cradled in my arms as I moved across the world. I adapted, led, carried, and didn’t complain - because someone had to.

My thirties brought career pressure. I led call centers filled with noise and need, while raising three kids at home. I wore the “I got it” badge like armor. I was a fixer, a doer, a keeper of calm. Strong.

And now here I am, in my forties - navigating job loss, mental illness, identity shifts, and life transitions - and I’m still the one people turn to. The one who makes a way out of no way. The one who keeps smiling, keeps solving, keeps saying, “I’ll figure it out.”

But what I really want is to not figure it out.

I want to fall apart without guilt. I want to be held instead of holding everything. I want to cry without feeling like I need to apologize for it or rush to the cleanup part. I want to say, “I can’t do this right now,” and trust that someone else will pick up the slack.

Because resilience isn’t always a gift. Sometimes it’s a reflex - one that keeps us from asking for help, from resting, from being soft. From being human.

We praise people for being strong, for surviving, for never needing anyone. But we rarely ask what that kind of strength costs. The truth? It’s lonely. It’s exhausting. And sometimes, it becomes a cage.

So here I am, cracking the door open. Saying out loud what I usually bury: I don’t want to be the strong one today. I want to be the one who’s allowed to lay it down. To let someone else carry the weight - even just for a moment.

And maybe that, in itself, is a kind of strength too.