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“Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is to ask for help.” ~Unknown
We live in a world that praises strength—especially quiet strength. The kind that shows up, gets things done, and rarely complains. The kind that’s resilient, dependable, productive. But what happens when the strong one quietly breaks inside?
“You are a superwoman!”
“You’re so reliable!”
“You’re the glue that holds everyone together.”
I wore those compliments like badges of honor. For years, I believed them. Not just believed them—I built my identity around them.
I’ve always been a multitasker. A jack of all trades. I managed work, home, relationships, and a hundred moving pieces in between. I cooked elaborate meals, remembered birthdays, bought thoughtful gifts, checked in on friends regularly, showed up for strangers when needed, pursued hobbies, supported others’ dreams, and pushed through physical pain or emotional fatigue without complaint.
I was the one people turned to. And if they didn’t turn to me, I turned to them. If someone was going through a hard time, I’d show up with soup, a handwritten card, or a call that stretched for hours. I’d intuit needs before they were spoken.
And when people said things like “Wow! How do you even manage all this?” or “You’re incredible,” my heart swelled with pride. It felt good to be seen. It felt powerful to be needed.
But over time, I began to realize something quietly tragic.
Underneath all that strength was someone tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix—but the kind that comes from years of overriding your own needs for others. The kind that comes from confusing love with over-giving. The kind that sneaks up when you’ve worn the strong-one mask for so long, you don’t know who you are without it.
I didn’t see it as people-pleasing back then—I truly loved being helpful. I believed that if I could ease someone’s burden, why shouldn’t I? Isn’t that what love looks like? Isn’t that what kindness does?
But slowly, quietly, invisibly, it was taking a toll on me. My skin had withered, my hair had thinned, and I’d put on weight around my waist.
As I grew older, I began to feel the shift. The same enthusiasm that once lasted until midnight now faded by sunset. The fatigue wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, spiritual. My body wasn’t breaking down, but my soul was whispering, “You can’t keep carrying everything.”
And eventually, I listened.
Because something beautiful and painful hit me all at once:
Strength isn’t about holding it all together. Sometimes, real strength is in knowing when to let go.
It’s in saying, “I don’t want to be strong today.”
It’s in resting, without needing to earn it.
It’s in telling the truth when someone asks, “How are you?” and answering, “I’m actually not okay.”
It’s in giving yourself permission to be fully, messily, unapologetically human.
The world doesn’t tell us that. It tells us to hustle. To push. To keep going. That rest is a reward, not a right. That slowing down is weakness. That softness is fragility.
But now I know that softness is a kind of strength too. A brave kind. A kind that doesn’t scream or perform—it just is.
So, How Do You Begin Letting Go of the “Strong One” Role?
Letting go doesn’t mean giving up on your values. It means loosening the grip on the pressure to be everything to everyone. It means rewriting what strength means to you. Here’s how I began doing that:
1. Check in with yourself daily.
Ask: What do I need today?
Not what’s on my to-do list or who needs me, but what would make me feel centered right now?
Sometimes the answer is water. Sometimes it’s stillness. Sometimes it’s movement, or tears, or music. You won’t know unless you pause to ask. Even five minutes of silence—before bed, in the shower, or while sipping your tea—can reconnect you to yourself.
2. Learn to receive help.
You don’t have to carry everything alone. Let someone else cook the meal. Let someone else take the lead. If someone offers support, don’t reflexively say “I’m fine” or “I’ve got it.” Say thank you. Let them show up for you.
I remember one day telling a friend that I was exhausted and just not in the mood to cook. She offered to send over food, and I accepted it—with gratitude and relief.
Letting someone care for you like that doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human. Accepting help builds connection, allows others to show love, and often brings a quiet joy that’s just as nourishing as the support itself.
3. Let go of the applause.
Here’s the hard truth: validation feels amazing—but it can also be a trap. You start doing things not because you want to, but because others expect it from you. The cycle is addictive.
Ask yourself: Would I still do this if no one noticed or clapped?
If the answer is no, give yourself permission to step back. Choose joy over performance. Choose peace over praise.
4. Set soft boundaries.
You don’t need to explain or justify your “no.”
For years, I would justify mine, feeling the need to explain or defend it. Slowly, I began changing the narrative. Now, I gently and unapologetically say, “I’d love to help, but I don’t have the capacity right now.” “Can I get back to you on this?”“I need some time for myself this weekend.”
Boundaries aren’t about pushing people away—they’re about protecting your inner landscape. The more you honor them, the more spacious, calm, and kind your life becomes.
5. Redefine what it means to be strong.
We’ve been taught that strength is about endurance, resilience, and never showing weakness. But real strength can also be quiet, tender, and human.
I remember one day, completely overwhelmed, a close friend came to check on me. When she asked how I was, I couldn’t hold it in—I just broke down. She didn’t try to fix anything; she simply held me, letting me pour out everything I’d been carrying. And in that moment, I felt lighter than I had in months.
Strength isn’t always in doing more. Sometimes it’s in being fully present with yourself, in your softness, in taking a pause, and in saying “not today” without guilt.
6. Prioritize rest like you would a deadline.
Rest isn’t laziness. It’s fuel. It’s sacred.
You don’t need to wait for burnout to rest. You don’t need to finish everything on your list to earn stillness. Schedule it. Guard it. Honor it.
Make rest a daily ritual—not a rare luxury. Your body, mind, and spirit will thank you.
Once I began prioritizing rest, I noticed a shift—not just in my energy, but in my clarity, mood, and ability to truly show up for myself and others. Life felt lighter, and I finally understood that honoring my body wasn’t selfish—it was necessary.
To Those Who’ve Always Been the Strong Ones
If you’ve always been the caregiver, the doer, the reliable one… I see you. I honor you.
But I want to remind you of something you may have forgotten:
You don’t need to prove your worth through over-functioning. You don’t need to sacrifice your well-being to be loved. You don’t have to keep showing up as the “strong one” when your heart is quietly asking for a break.
You were never meant to carry it all.
You can take the cape off now. You can exhale. You can cry. You can be soft. You can ask for help. You can choose rest. You can let someone hold space for you.
Because you’ve already done enough. Because you are enough. And because strength isn’t about how much you carry—it’s about knowing when to let go.
Let your new strength be rooted in gentleness. Let your softness lead. Let your heart exhale.
About Aruna Joshi
Aruna Joshi is an author of four books, an emotional wellness advocate, and the voice behind Zen Whispers, a blog for deep-feeling souls who crave gentleness, truth, and clarity. Through personal stories and soft reflections, she helps readers feel less alone in their inner struggles. You can find her at thezenwhispers.substack.com.
