Stop Calling Me Strong: I’m Tired, Babe

You ever notice how “strong” always sounds like a compliment, but somehow ends up feeling like a curse?

Like … thanks, I guess?

But what you really mean is:

“I know life keeps sucker punching you, but I fully expect you to eat your feelings, smile pretty, and keep carrying the weight of everyone else’s emotional baggage, in heels, with lashes on … while gaslit into thinking you should be grateful for the resilience.”

Yeah. No.

Let’s talk about it.

Being “strong” became my identity. And then it became my prison.

I was the girl who handled everything. Independent. Capable. “So mature for her age.”

The problem?

No one thought to help me. They just assumed I’d figure it out.

Being the strong one means people stop asking if you’re okay.

They assume you always are.

Even when you’re not.

Even when you’re breaking.

And if you do crack under pressure?

They look at you like you’ve betrayed them.

Like the mascot of emotional survival wasn’t supposed to have human limits.

Strength is not silence. It’s not self-sacrifice. It’s not smiling through trauma.

I am tired of being called strong as a way to avoid supporting me.

I’m not a superhero. I’m not a martyr.

I’m a woman who has survived shit she shouldn’t have had to.

And I’m exhausted.

What if I want to be soft today?

What if I need to fall apart?

What if I just want to scream-cry into a void and then take a nap while someone else makes the damn decisions?

That doesn’t make me weak.

That makes me human.

So here’s your permission slip:

You don’t have to perform strength to be worthy. You can cry, rage, rest, and ask for help. You can set that “strong woman” cape down and say: “I’m not doing it all today. Try someone else.”

Because strong isn’t the goal.

Alive is.

Peaceful is.

Unbothered, hydrated, and left the hell alone is.

And that, babe?

That’s the kind of power no one can take from you.