Strength Isn’t Always a Choice

By Nadeem Shah

People praised me for being strong, but they didn’t see the truth—my strength wasn’t a gift, it was a sentence I never chose to serve.

People say I’m strong.

They say it like it’s a compliment, like I should wear it with pride.

“You’re so resilient.”

“You always bounce back.”

“You can handle anything.”

But here’s what they don’t see:

I didn’t choose strength. It was forced on me.

From a young age, I learned that my feelings didn’t have a safe place to land. If I cried, it was “overreacting.” If I asked for help, I was “too much.” If I faltered, I was “letting people down.”

So, I stopped faltering.

I swallowed my tears.

I learned to keep going no matter what it cost me.

At first, it felt like survival. Later, it became a habit. And eventually, it turned into an identity I didn’t know how to take off.

I became the dependable one. The helper. The listener. The fixer.

The person who always showed up for others, even when no one showed up for me.

And it wasn’t that people were cruel or careless—sometimes they simply didn’t realize that the “strong one” could break. I was too good at hiding it. Too good at making it look effortless.

But behind the scenes, my strength was a mask held together with frayed string.

The Breaking Point

I remember the exact night I realized this wasn’t sustainable. I was sitting alone in my kitchen after a long day—one of those days where you’ve carried everyone else’s problems on your back like a sack of bricks. My phone lit up with another text: “Hey, sorry to bother you, but can I talk?”

Every part of me wanted to say no. I wanted to curl up, switch off my brain, and just… exist. But my thumbs typed “Of course, what’s going on?” before my mind even caught up.

After the call, I felt drained—empty in a way that no amount of sleep could fix. And that’s when it hit me: I had built a life where my worth was tied to how useful I was to other people. If I wasn’t holding everyone else together, I didn’t know who I was.

And it scared me.

The Unspoken Rules

Somewhere along the line, I had absorbed this unspoken rule:

I don’t get to fall apart. I’m the safety net, not the one who needs saving.

But who wrote that rule?

Why was it so deeply etched into my bones?

When I looked back, I saw how it started—not from one big moment, but from hundreds of small ones. Times I needed comfort but was told to “be tough.” Times I asked for help and was met with silence. Times I saw the exhaustion in someone else’s eyes and decided my pain could wait.

Over time, strength stopped being a choice. It became my default mode. My survival mechanism. My prison.

The Cost of Always Being “Okay”

People think strength means being unshakable. But the truth? It’s exhausting to be the one who never crumbles.

You don’t get to be messy.

You don’t get to be vulnerable.

You don’t get to ask for the things you so freely give.

And the worst part? People stop checking on you. They assume you’re fine because you’ve always been fine. They lean a little harder on you because they think you can take it.

Until one day, you can’t.

Choosing Something Different

It took me years to realize that the strength people praised was actually a kind of armor—one I had outgrown but didn’t know how to take off.

The first time I told someone, “I’m not okay,” my voice shook. I felt exposed, as if I’d broken some sacred pact to always be the strong one. But instead of judgment, I was met with compassion. Genuine concern. A hand on my shoulder.

It wasn’t easy after that. Old habits die hard. I still find myself instinctively saying “I’m fine” when I’m not. I still feel a pang of guilt when I set boundaries.

But I’m learning that real strength isn’t about never breaking—it’s about admitting when you are.

It’s about giving yourself permission to be human, even when the world has only ever celebrated your unbreakable side.

If You’re Reading This

If you’re the one everyone calls when they need something, but no one calls just to see how you are… I see you.

If you’re tired of carrying the world on your shoulders but don’t know how to set it down… I understand.

And if you’ve been strong for so long that you’ve forgotten what it feels like to rest… I promise you, it’s okay to put the weight down.

Because strength isn’t always a choice. But healing can be.

Author’s Note:

You don’t owe the world an unshakable version of yourself. The people who truly care will still love you when you let the cracks show. Strength is not the absence of need—it’s the courage to admit it.

— Nadeem Shah