The Burden of Strength: Navigating Life When You’re Expected to Always Have It Together

Being strong all the time can create a heavy, unrealistic expectation—one that fastens a narrative where you can’t stop, feel, or simply be human. Strength often feels like a performance, an armor you wear to shield your emotions, leaving no room for vulnerability. Society, family, and even your own upbringing can instill the belief that you must always bounce back, have a solution, and counteract every problem with your next move already mapped out.

For me, this expectation was cemented in childhood, shaped by my father. He had this rule: you could cry, fuss, or process your emotions—but only for five minutes. After that, he’d always ask, “So, what’s your plan? What are you going to do?” His focus was always on the next step, on resolving the issue at hand.

That upbringing conditioned me to figure things out quickly. I learned to suppress my emotions, analyze situations, and work backward from the resolution. I would go into “fix-it” mode almost instinctively, often processing my feelings long after the dust had settled. Days, weeks, or even months could pass before I truly confronted what I was going through.

In some ways, this mindset became my purpose. I feel like I’ve walked into a calling as a problem-solver—not just because it’s part of who I am, but because I’ve been conditioned for it. I naturally process challenges differently than most people, focusing on solutions before allowing the problem to consume me.

But there’s a flipside to always being the strong one. People around you start to assume you don’t need help. They see you as the one who always has it together, and they don’t check in as often as they should. The phrase “check on your strong friends” exists for a reason. It’s not just a nice saying—it’s a real plea for acknowledgment and care.

I remember a conversation with my oldest son during a tough time. I can’t recall the exact conflict, but his response stayed with me: “You’ll figure it out. You always do.” His confidence in my ability to navigate life’s challenges made me cry. He had so much faith in me because that’s all he’s ever seen—me figuring it out, solving problems, and keeping it together.

But here’s the truth: my kids have never seen me cry. They don’t see the moments when I break down in the shower or behind closed doors. They don’t see me wrestling with emotions before I emerge like Superwoman, ready to tackle the world. To them, I’ve always had a plan, always been in control.

Hearing my son’s words was both a moment of pride and a moment of sadness. I realized that my strength has created a perception that I don’t struggle, that I don’t need help or rest. And sometimes, that perception becomes suffocating. It’s tough to feel like you can’t stop, can’t rest, and can’t just be.

Being strong all the time is exhausting. It’s okay to take off the armor, let the tears fall, and admit that you don’t have it all figured out. It doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human. If you’re the “strong friend,” the “problem solver,” or the one who always has it together—know that it’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to rest. And it’s okay to remind the people around you that even Superwoman needs a break.