Strength is something we all strive to have – we want to be strong and be known as strong by others. We want to be reliable, and dependable, and the one person who stays composed and steady in times of distress. Because we look up to strong people. We admire those individuals who seem like they can shoulder anything and everything all at once with ease. We look up to those who stare into the chaotic depths of the storm with unwavering certainty that they can handle it. We wait for these people to stand up during trying times and convince us it will be alright will a light in their eyes that instantly makes the heaviness dragging us down disappear. We need these people in our lives to bear the burdens we can’t – the ones that would throw us to the ground and grind us down until nothing is left of our collapsing souls but some dust and a memory or two.

We need these strong people – but the thing about having this strength is they need us too.

People with this kind of strength we rely on weren’t born with it; it wasn’t given freely to them when they were ready to handle it. They either grew into it gradually from the lessons of their lives or were forced into it by the relentless onslaught of hardships. In my experiences knowing people who posses this strength, the latter is usually the case. These people are strong and confident in the face of adversity because they have been beaten down so many times that they’ve learned how to absorb that pain and turn it into action for others and themselves. They’ve lost track of how many times they’ve been paralyzed by the fear of making the wrong choice, or the fear of not being enough. Or in my case, the fear of letting others know how tired and burdensome it is to stay strong. They will never let anyone know how stressed they really are, or how close they are to giving up because being that strong hurts. And the last thing they ever want to do, even more so than continue being strong, is to let others feel that pain of having to be strong. This creates the endless cycle of strength. Strong people take on everything so that others, usually those they love, don’t have to feel the weight or pressure of the same responsibilities. In turn, this crushes the spirit and mind of the strong person who needs help handling everything sometimes, but who will also not ask for that help or even let on that they’re struggling because they don’t want others to know that pain or take on the responsibilities. The cycle continues endlessly.

But what happens when that strength starts to fail? What happens when that person who has spent their entire life being the source of strength for others, and who has embraced that as their main personality to the point where it becomes nearly their whole damn identity because all their life they learned that’s where their value comes from; what happens when that strength starts running out? When the stresses start getting to them easier than before or when they lie awake at night unable to sleep, frozen in their own fear of failing and letting everyone down? What becomes of the strong person who has been stretched relentlessly thin, and now all that’s left of them is a single thread of the person they once were? A single thread that can barely hold up a quarter, let alone all the responsibilities they accepted and took on themselves?

What happens when the strong person loses their strength?

Being strong is a lonely existence sometimes – you do it for the people you love because you want to make things easier for them; that was my reason. I took on the responsibility of providing for and being totally relied upon for another person before I was probably ready to, though I don’t know how one could ever be ready for something like that. I became the sole provider so they could have an easier time during a tough period of their life which I was all too glad to do because I loved them. The only thing was, I was already going through a difficult time in my own life. I loaded on this extra responsibility knowing full well that I didn’t want the weight it came with, nor did I probably have the physical or mental capability to do so, but I did it so they wouldn’t have to.

Every day, I worked until my body hurt and I was falling asleep during my studies. In a lot of ways, I was miserable, but putting on a happy persona while with other people so no one would know just how tired I was. I would later find out that I wasn’t being as discreet as I thought with the pain, I was in. I think we are hard-wired to notice the most minute changes in a person’s heart, whether we’re aware of it or not.

This was at a point in my life where I had felt like I had already had to be strong for everyone around me for the last decade – being sick will do that to you. You have to constantly assure others that you’re fine, even when you’re not really because the pain you’re feeling isn’t any different from the pain you feel every other day. In comparison, you’re fine and they shouldn’t worry. So, when you tell them you’re in pain and their eyes get big and eyebrows furrow in concern, you have to comfort them and let them know, oh it’s okay, it’s really not that bad even though it’s still pain. The hardest was doing this around family. They only love you and want the best for you and would give up anything if they could just make you feel okay again. But they can’t, and that hurts them more than anything else: the fact that there’s nothing they can do. So, you do your best to ignore the pain and make them smile again. You ignore the state you’re in and the fact that there’s nothing that can be done to help you, and you’re main focus for existing in those moments is to bring their spirits up. And you love it when you can get them to smile again. But it’s exhausting. You’re not giving yourself time to rest and deal with the position you’re in because you’ve taken it upon yourself to make their happiness your priority at all costs. And that can be draining. And sad. And painful.

I already possessed a strength at this point from dealing with that and finally being well enough to live again, but when I made the decision to be responsible for and provide for another person entirely, I would learn how strong I had yet to become.

It was excruciating work full of stresses and nightmares about what would happen if I failed. I put my whole self into being that strong pillar for the person I loved, that I forgot to take care of myself. I did everything to keep up the face that we were fine and doing well. I kept them from knowing how burdened I had become because – 1) it wasn’t their fault at all; it was something I put on myself and 2) because I didn’t want them to feel the things I was feeling.

I kept it all to myself and didn’t open up about it even when asked directly because I didn’t want to look weak. I didn’t want to be weak. I put myself through hell and refused to ask for help in the hopes that this person didn’t have to experience this same kind of pain. And maybe this wasn’t strength at all; maybe it was just me being prideful saying, “I bet I can do that – look how easy it is!” even though it wasn’t.

Maybe I just desperately wanted to be the one to care for someone rather than being the person someone else had to look out for again. Maybe I wanted to so I could feel important. Maybe this was a desperate act of someone who badly needed to feel needed in one way or another. Maybe this wasn’t strength at all.

But then again, maybe it was. Maybe this was the kind of strength people look up to in times of crisis – the kind that gives people hope and comfort that things will be okay even when they’re not. Maybe the people in my life looked at me with awe and wonder during this time, and were amazed by how solid I stood while the wind swirled chaos around me. Maybe the person I did this for looks up to me now and admires me for the person I was for them. Maybe this was strength, or even if it wasn’t at the time, it has turned into strength now. That’s something I will always be proud of myself for.

But then there’s the thing about how being strong is lonely and isolating. Even if they don’t seem like it, the strong people in your life need you just as much as you need them. They need to know they haven’t failed you; that their efforts have been enough. They need a hug wrapped in a blanket coupled with soothing back rubs, or fingers lovingly run through their hair as they fall asleep in your lap. They need you.

I’m tired of being strong; it’s exhausting work that never seems to end. There have been so many times when I’ve been one breath away from giving up, or one concerned look from a coworker from breaking down in the middle of the office. It’s painful.

As I look back at all the times I’ve chosen to be or had to be strong, I know that if I had known at the beginning of those times what I knew at the end of them, about just how trying they were going to be, I never would have signed up for them. Though I’m proud of myself for graduating, if I had known from the start of it just how much I would be put through on top of moving and stressful job changes I’m sure I wouldn’t have started. Though I’m proud of myself for succeeding in an unfamiliar workplace, if I had known how hard that one job would be on me mentally and physically I never would have applied for it. If I had known how difficult that relationship was going to be, especially towards the end and how many scars it would leave me with, I never would have gotten in it. And that makes me sad. I’d like to say with certainty I would have chosen to do those things over again from the start even after knowing how painful they were, but I wouldn’t. I would have chickened out. I would never had let myself try and fail; or grow and learn from those experiences. And I never would have had the strength I do today. So I’m glad I didn’t know how hard they’d be. I’m glad I don’t know how hard anything in my future will be either, lest I get in the way of myself.

I’m tired of being strong; but it doesn’t have to be as lonely as I’ve let it be. I don’t have to face hard things on my own, I’ve just chosen to until now because I let myself believe that was the only way. It’s exhausting work that never seems to end, but eventually it does. There’s been so many times when I’ve been one ragged breath away from giving up, or one look away from a breakdown, and that’s alright. I think the hardest thing for strong people is to remember they’re still human. It’s difficult for us to admit that we can only handle so much, even harder when we come to that limit and are now faced with the fear of losing our strength, our identity, and the very thing in which we’ve put all our value. It’s difficult to ask for help when our whole lives we’ve always found a way to manage alone, even if that’s not healthy. It’s difficult to deal with the situation of putting some of that burden on others to lighten it on ourselves. It feels selfish. It feels cruel. It feels unnecessary when we’ve proven time and time again we can handle it. It feels weak.

But it’s not – it’s a point of growth and connection to those we love and who love us and don’t want to see us suffer alone. Asking for help when we need it is strength. Knowing your limits and listening to your mind and body makes you strong and whole. Sure, we can handle more than other people can on a day-to-day basis, which is great in times. But knowing yourself and trusting others to carry the burden with you is a kind of strength that is unmatched by others.

Strength is something we all strive to have – we want to be strong and be known as strong to others. We want to be reliable, and dependable: the one person who stays composed and steady in times of distress. We all want to be the person who can take care of others so they don’t have to be weighed down by the worries and responsibilities. We look up to strong people.

To those with this strength, we admire you. We will never know what it took for you to be this strong, nor what you’re dealing with now to maintain it. But also know, we’re here for you. You deserve someone to take care of you just as much as you take care of others. So let those who love you, help you. Open up about what you’re feeling, even if it’s not pretty or easy, and let them take the bit of burden they can help with. I’ll try to do the same. The thing about strength is it comes in many different forms and learning to let go of some of the reigns, or the pain you doom yourself to suffer in alone, is one of them. This is something I struggle with but will work towards. For others and for myself.