I'm not impressed that you're "the strong one."
We've learnt to see it as a compliment. It isn't.
Being the strong one isn't a personality trait.
It's a survival strategy you developed before you had words.
It means:
At some point, someone needed you to be okay so they could fall apart.
At some point, your needs became inconvenient.
At some point, your nervous system decided being needed was safer than needing.
You weren't born strong. You were trained to be.
And the cost?
You stopped being able to say what you actually feel.
You can run a department.
You can't tell your partner you're lonely.
You can hold a family together.
You can't ask for what you need.
You can manage everyone else's emotions.
You can't name your own.
You haven't lost your voice.
You learned, very young, that having one wasn't safe.
That speaking your truth cost you love.
That expressing your needs made you "too much."
That being yourself wasn't an option if you wanted to stay close to the people who raised you.
So you became the performer.
The strong one.
The fine one.
The accommodating one.
And the truth nobody told you:
You're not actually strong. You're armoured.
And there's a difference.
Strength can rest. Armour can't.
Strength can receive. Armour deflects.
Strength can speak the true thing. Armour says "I'm fine."
You don't need to be stronger.
You need to learn, probably for the first time, how to put the armour down and say what's actually true for you.
That's the work I do.
Being “the strong one” is burning you out.
You overthink. Stay quiet. Then replay it all later.
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