Strength: My Survival and Isolation.
People often tell me, “You’re the friend I don’t have to worry about.” On the surface, that sounds like a compliment. It suggests I’ve got things figured out, that I’m steady, reliable, unshakable.
But the truth? When a close friend said that to me, I was crumbling on the inside. I was barely holding it together. And no one had a clue.
That’s the hidden truth about being “strong.”
Strength is the reputation I’ve carried like an armour for most of my life. People call me resilient, resourceful, and independent, all words that sound noble, like badges of honour. And yes, sometimes I am those things. But what most people don’t see is the mess behind the curtain. My life is not perfectly planned or polished. It’s often chaos, a jumble of figuring things out as I go.
I learned early on that survival depended on my being able to “handle it.” My mother used to tell me, in her tough-love way: “What doesn’t have a mouth cannot be smarter than you.” She meant to empower me, to remind me I could figure things out. But what I internalised was something different: that asking for help was a weakness, that I was supposed to be strong enough to conquer anything, alone.
The Loneliness in Being Strong
Strength can be beautiful. It pushes you forward when you feel like giving up. It helps you stay disciplined when the world feels uncertain. It can even give you an edge in a world that values resilience.
But it’s also a heavy, exhausting burden.
When you’re the one everyone depends on, the one who “always has it together,” people stop checking in on you. They assume you’re invincible, untouchable. And because of that, you learn to bury your vulnerability so deep that even the people closest to you can’t find it.
You become a pillar. And pillars aren’t supposed to crack, bend, or collapse; they’re just supposed to hold everything up. However, what no one talks about is the loneliness of being the pillar. You can be in a crowded room, surrounded by friends and family, and still feel like you’re standing alone in the middle of a storm, holding everything up while no one notices your knees shaking.
Redefining Strength
Somewhere along the way, I realised that surviving isn’t the same as thriving. And the bridge between the two is vulnerability.
True strength isn’t about never stumbling or always having the right answer. It’s about admitting when you’re not okay. It’s about having the courage to say, “I can’t do this on my own”, and allowing someone else to step in. It’s giving up the need to be the hero all the time and daring to be human instead.
That’s the lesson I’m still learning: strength is not just about carrying weight; it’s also about knowing when to set it down.
Lean on people
If you, like me, have worn “strong” as your badge of honour for too long, maybe it’s time to loosen its grip. Let your friends worry about you for once. Let them carry you, even if it feels uncomfortable. Let them see your cracks.
Because vulnerability isn’t weakness; it’s what builds connection. It’s what turns acquaintances into family and friendships into lifelines.
Loneliness isn’t about being alone; it’s about being unseen. And the moment you allow yourself to be seen, fully and honestly, is the moment you start to truly thrive.
That’s the heart of it: strength kept me alive, but vulnerability is what will help me live.