The ‘Strong One’s’ Secret: How I Learned That Being a Pillar for Everyone Else Doesn’t Mean I Don’t Need Support.
The ‘Strong One’s’ Secret: How I Learned That Being a Pillar for Everyone Else Doesn’t Mean I Don’t Need Support.
The “Strong One’s” Secret: The Truth About Being Everyone’s Pillar
Everyone has that one friend. The one you call when your heart is broken, when you get fired, or when your car breaks down. They’re the one who always has it together. They listen without judgment, offer a practical solution, and probably bring you a coffee and a slice of cake while they do it. For most of my life, that person was me.
My phone was a helpline, my car was a taxi, and my living room was a free therapy office. And I loved it. I genuinely believed my purpose was to be a rock for the people I loved. I was the “strong one,” the one who never stumbled. It wasn’t an act; it was who I was. I was proud of my resilience, my ability to handle anything life threw at me and everyone else.
But being the strong one is a double-edged sword. It comes with an unspoken, invisible rule: strong people don’t get to be weak. Strong people don’t fall apart. And strong people don’t ask for help.
The Cracks in the Foundation
The cracks started to show slowly. At first, it was just little things. I’d feel a wave of exhaustion after a long conversation with a friend in crisis. My patience would be razor-thin with my family, and I’d snap over something minor. I told myself it was just stress. I’d fix it with a new yoga class or by getting up an hour earlier to meditate. I was still in “fix it” mode, but this time, the problem was me.
I remember one particular afternoon. A friend called me, absolutely devastated about a breakup. I listened, offered advice, and stayed on the phone for two hours, giving her everything I had. But when I hung up, instead of feeling good, I felt empty. I went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and just stared at it. I didn’t know what I needed. I didn’t know what I wanted. I just felt a profound sense of numbness. It was a terrifying feeling.
That’s when I realized the problem wasn’t a lack of sleep or a missed workout. It was a profound emotional burnout. I had poured so much of myself into everyone else that there was nothing left for me. I had built a life as a fortress for others, but I had forgotten to reinforce my own walls.
The Day I Became the “Broken” One
The turning point came when I had my own crisis. I won’t go into the details, but it was a moment where my carefully constructed world was shaken. For the first time, I was the one who needed a lifeline.
My first instinct was to handle it on my own. I told myself I couldn’t burden my friends. After all, they came to me for support, not the other way around. I felt a deep sense of shame. What would they think of me? Would they see me as less than? Would I lose my title as the “strong one”?
The first person I tried to call was a close friend. I got her on the phone and couldn’t even say the words. I just started crying. Not a quiet, dignified sob, but a messy, ugly, gasping cry. And then I heard a small voice on the other end, “Thank you.”
I stopped. “Thank you? What for?”
And she said something that changed my life. “Thank you for letting me be strong for you.”
That’s when it hit me. My desire to always be the pillar wasn’t just about helping others; it was also about controlling the narrative of my own life. It was about creating an illusion of invincibility to protect myself from vulnerability. And in doing so, I was actually preventing my friends from experiencing the joy and purpose that comes from being there for someone they love. I was robbing them of the very role I cherished.
The Courage to Be Human
I realized that being strong isn’t about never needing help. True strength is the courage to be vulnerable. It’s the willingness to say, “I’m not okay right now.”
That’s the conversation we need to start having. In a world that idolizes resilience, we need to create space for fragility. We need to remember that our value isn’t measured by how many burdens we can carry, but by our ability to show up for ourselves and for each other in our most human, imperfect moments.
My healing didn’t come from pushing harder or meditating more. It came from the messy, awkward, and profoundly honest act of letting people in. It came from allowing myself to be the “broken” one for a while, and trusting that my friends would be there to help me put the pieces back together.
If you’re the “strong one” in your circle, I see you. I want you to know this: your strength is a gift, but it’s not a full-time job. Your most important act of courage might not be a grand gesture of support for someone else, but a small, quiet moment where you finally let someone be strong for you. You don’t have to be perfect to be loved. You just have to be human.
