When You’re the Strong One

There is a kind of exhaustion that doesn’t show on the outside.

The kind where you answer the phone with a calm voice while silently falling apart inside.

The kind where everyone sees you as dependable, capable, and “strong” — but no one notices you’re surviving one breath at a time.

For a long time, that was me.

I became so used to carrying everything that I forgot what it felt like to be cared for myself. Between work, responsibilities, grief, motherhood, and simply trying to survive, I learned how to function while emotionally running on empty.

The pressure to hold everything together can become a very lonely place.

Especially when nobody around you realizes you’re holding on by a thread.

There were seasons where burnout completely consumed me. Constant phone calls. Endless demands. Always taking care of everyone else’s needs while ignoring my own. I poured from an empty cup because I didn’t know how to stop. Rest felt selfish. Slowing down felt impossible.

And underneath all of that exhaustion was grief I hadn’t fully healed from.

Divorce changes you.

And then losing my ex-husband a few years later brought another layer of pain for myself and my children that I wasn’t prepared for. Grief is complicated. Sometimes it comes in waves. Sometimes it hides quietly beneath your daily routine until one small moment brings everything rushing back to the surface.

Somewhere in the middle of all of it, I felt disconnected from God.

Not because I stopped believing.

But because I was tired.

Tired emotionally.

Tired mentally.

Tired spiritually.

I prayed, but often felt numb. I showed up for everyone else while silently wondering where I was supposed to place my own pain.

And then there was my mother.

Watching someone you love slowly disappear while still sitting right in front of you is a heartbreak I cannot fully explain. During COVID, her battle with Frontal Temporal Lobe dementia declined rapidly. There were days we could only visit her through the window of her skilled nursing facility. We stood outside trying to connect through glass while the world itself already felt unbearably distant.

Eventually, there were moments she no longer recognized her own children.

But somehow, through all the confusion, all the loss, and all the fading memories… one thing remained constant:

“His plan is His plan.”

She would say it over and over again.

Even in the hardest moments.

Even when so much else had been taken from her.

That simple sentence has stayed with me deeply.

Because despite everything she endured, her faith remained.

And I think that changed me.

It reminded me that faith is not about having all the answers. It’s not about always feeling spiritually strong or emotionally steady. Sometimes faith is simply choosing to trust God while your heart is breaking.

Sometimes faith is surviving.

Sometimes faith is whispering “help me” when you don’t have the strength for anything more.

The truth is, I am still healing. Still learning how to rest. Still learning how to stop carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. Still rebuilding my relationship with God in quieter, more intentional ways.

But I also know this:

God never left me in those lonely places.

Not in the burnout.

Not in the grief.

Not in the hospital rooms.

Not outside that nursing home window.

Not in the moments I questioned everything.

He was there the entire time.

And I believe my mother is now walking hand in hand with Jesus — fully healed, fully known, fully at peace.

If you are in a season where you feel overwhelmed, exhausted, unseen, or spiritually distant… you are not alone.

You do not have to carry everything by yourself.

Sometimes the strongest thing we can do is finally admit we are tired and place those burdens into God’s hands.

“Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.”

— 1 Peter 5:7