The Day I Decided to Stop Being Strong

For years, I was the strong one.

I was the one people called when things fell apart. The one who sat with the grieving widow, who counselled the couple on the edge of divorce, who held space for everyone else's pain — and then drove home alone, walked into my house, and kept moving.

I had convinced myself that this was strength.

I was wrong.

What "Being Strong" Cost Me

There is a kind of strength that is really just fear dressed in armour. Fear of being seen as weak. Fear that if you fall apart, no one will be there to put you back together. Fear that your vulnerability will somehow invalidate your ability to help others.

I carried that fear for years. And it was exhausting.

I remember sitting in my car one evening outside my house. I had just come from a particularly difficult session with a client. I sat there for twenty minutes, not wanting to go inside. Not wanting to perform being fine for one more minute.

I cried. Not for the client. For me.

Therapists Need Therapy Too

Yes, I said it. I have sat in a therapist's chair myself. I have been the one saying, "I don't know how to carry this anymore."

And it was one of the most important things I ever did for myself — and, ultimately, for the people I serve.

You cannot pour from empty. You cannot offer real empathy if you are numb to your own pain.

Permission to Be Human

If you are the strong one — the one everyone leans on — I want to give you permission today. Permission to not be okay. Permission to ask for help. Permission to stop performing strength and start practicing it.

Real strength is not the absence of need. It is the courage to admit it.

"You don't have to be the hero of everyone else's story while slowly disappearing from your own."