The Strong One

Written By Melissa Hull

They called me strong.

They meant it as a compliment. A kind of admiration. A way of saying, “You’re still standing. You’re still smiling. You’re still doing the impossible.”

And for a long time, I took it that way. I nodded. I thanked them. I let them believe that strength was something I chose. Something I mastered. Something I wore easily.

But what no one saw… was the cost.

Strength, for many of us, isn’t a decision. It’s a defense. It’s what you learn when life brings you to your knees and you’re not sure you’ll ever get back up — but you do, because someone needs you. Because you’ve trained yourself to never fall too far, to never get caught off guard again. Because if you can control everything around you, maybe — just maybe — you can protect yourself from being blindsided by pain.

And so, we grip tighter.

We plan more thoroughly.

We show up harder.

We become the one everyone leans on.

But in doing that, sometimes, we forget what it feels like to lean.

Becoming Strong

After my son Drew passed away, I became “the strong one” without even realizing it. People told me I was inspiring. That I was handling everything with such grace. That I was so strong. And yes — I kept going. I built. I created. I loved my family as fiercely as ever. I served others in their grief. I wrote, I spoke, I showed up.

But I didn’t know how to not do those things.

Not because I was healed.

But because the alternative — falling apart — felt too dangerous.

What no one saw was the woman lying awake at night, bargaining with God for another moment with her child. The mother who would walk into a room and scan it for triggers without even realizing it. The woman who kept herself busy so the silence wouldn’t consume her.

Strength, it turned out, was not just about resilience. It was about survival.

The Invisible Weight of Holding It Together

If you’re the strong one, you know exactly what I mean.

You’re the person others go to for advice. The one they trust to hold the room, manage the details, solve the problem, keep the peace.

You know how to put your pain in a box and carry on.

You know how to push through when your body says rest.

You know how to smile when your heart is breaking.

And the world doesn’t question it. In fact, it rewards you for it. It praises your composure, your achievements, your ability to “bounce back.”

But what the world doesn’t see is the loneliness of that role. The crushing pressure of being everyone’s anchor. The silent wish that someone — anyone — would notice that maybe, just maybe, you’re not okay either.

Strength Isn’t the Goal

For a long time, I believed strength was the goal. That if I could just stay strong enough, nothing could hurt me again. That if I showed up well enough, no one would question what was happening underneath.

But strength without softness becomes a wall.

And a wall, no matter how sturdy, keeps love out just as much as it keeps pain away.

I didn’t want to live behind a wall anymore.

And so, I started to let it down. Brick by brick. Not all at once — because letting go of that identity felt terrifying. But slowly, I began to listen to the parts of me I had silenced. The parts that needed to cry. To be comforted. To not have the answers.

And I learned that real strength is not about holding it all together.

It’s about letting go.

The Mask of High Functioning Grief

In my work, I meet so many women who are just like I was. High functioning. Highly capable. Highly praised. They’re managing households, running businesses, caregiving for others, often while navigating unimaginable loss.

And yet, when I ask them how they are really doing, there’s a pause. A flicker of something behind the practiced expression. A moment of truth trying to make its way out.

Because deep down, they’re exhausted.

They’re overwhelmed.

They’re still carrying emotions they haven’t had space to feel.

And the scariest part? They don’t know how to stop.

Because who are you if you’re not the strong one?

Who Holds You?

I had to ask myself that question. I had to reckon with the truth that while I was holding space for so many others, I wasn’t offering that same grace to myself.

And so I ask you, if you’re the strong one:

  • When was the last time you let yourself be fully seen?

  • When was the last time you admitted that you needed help?

  • When was the last time you felt safe enough to just rest?

You are not weak for needing care. You are not failing for feeling overwhelmed. You are human.

And humans are not meant to carry everything alone.

Strength Reimagined

These days, strength looks different for me.

It looks like:

  • Telling the truth, even when it’s messy.

  • Letting people into the parts of my life I once kept private.

  • Saying “no” to overfunctioning and “yes” to asking for help.

  • Choosing rest over proving myself.

  • Crying without apologizing.

It looks like standing in a room and saying, “I’m not okay — but I’m still here.”

It looks like making room for softness. For slowness. For presence.

And most of all, it looks like loving myself without conditions.

You’re Allowed to Be More Than Strong

To every woman who’s been labeled “the strong one” — I want you to hear this:

You are allowed to be more than strong.

You are allowed to be held.

You are allowed to be supported.

You are allowed to need.

You are allowed to fall apart.

And not just in secret. Not just in the privacy of your bedroom or behind closed doors. But out loud. In the presence of others. Without shame. Without explanation.

You don’t have to perform your healing.

You don’t have to be impressive in your grief.

You don’t have to be the hero of your story every single day.

You Just Get to Be

Some days, you will feel like a warrior. Other days, you’ll feel like you’re made of glass. That is the ebb and flow of living after loss. That is the rhythm of real healing.

You don’t owe anyone your strength.

You only owe yourself the truth.

And the truth is this: You are worthy of love, connection, rest, and support — whether you are strong today or not.

If being “the strong one” has become your identity, I invite you to soften. To step back. To be seen in your full humanity — not just your highlights. To unlearn the belief that your worth is tied to your performance.

Because the most powerful version of you is not the one who has it all figured out. It’s the one who dares to feel. Who dares to receive. Who dares to live as a whole person, not a polished one.

So here’s to letting yourself be real.

Here’s to laying down the armor.

Here’s to the beautiful, tender strength of being fully, unapologetically you!

Let’s Stay Connected!

I’d love to keep the conversation going. Whether you’re looking for free resources, inspiration, healing tools, or want to dive deeper through my courses and podcast — there’s a space for you here:

Wherever you are on your healing journey, know that you’re not alone.

Melissa Hull
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