What “Strong” Has Cost Me

The Cost of Strength

People like to tell me I’m strong.
They mean it as a compliment, I think.

“You’re so strong, Diane.”
“You’re amazing for handling all this.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”

But what they don’t see—what they never ask—is what being strong has cost me.

What Being Strong Has Meant

• Swallowing my grief
  So I can show up to work with a smile no one deserves.
• Pushing aside my pain
  To care for the man I love as he fades into a fog of seizures and depression.
• Crying in hidden places
  Bathrooms, parking lots, hallways—anywhere no one can see, because being strong in public is what’s expected.
• Delaying retirement
  When I thought I would be at peace.
• Giving up on peace
  The kind I waited my whole life for.
• Watching the future I dreamed about slip away
  And pretending I’m okay with it—because what’s the alternative?
• Not asking for help
  Because I know help rarely comes.
• Standing alone in the fire, day after day
  Because sitting down might mean I’ll never get back up.

What People Call Strength Feels Like Loss

• Loss of rest.
• Loss of joy.
• Loss of being held, the way I hold everyone else.
• Loss of someone saying:
  “You don’t have to be the strong one today. I’ve got you.”

The Truth I Carry

I never wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be safe.

I wanted to be loved without breaking myself in half to earn it.

I wanted to come home at the end of the day and exhale.
But that’s not my story right now.

At What Cost?

So yes, I’m strong. But at what cost?

• Strong has stolen my softness.
• Strong has hardened my tears into silence.
• Strong has made me disappear, behind the version of myself that everyone else needs.

And if you’re reading this and nodding—if you know what it means to be strong at the expense of your own soul, I see you.

What We Deserve

You deserve rest.
You deserve softness.
You deserve to fall apart, to ask for help, to be held instead of holding everything.

Being strong may have helped me survive,
but it shouldn’t have to be the only way I live.

Maybe it’s time to rewrite the story.

• Maybe strength can include softness.
• Maybe strong can mean saying:
  “I’m tired. I need help. I can’t do this alone.”
• Maybe that’s not weakness at all.
• Maybe it’s the bravest thing we can do.

To those of you carrying more than your share and still showing up with grace:
I see you. And you’re allowed to put it down sometimes.