Dear Komugisa: "I'm Tired of Being the Strong One"

Some letters are shared by readers. Others are inspired by conversations, life experiences, and the quiet struggles many of us carry but don't always know how to put into words. To protect privacy, names and identifying details are changed. If you happen to see yourself in a letter, know that you're probably not alone.

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Letter

Dear Komugisa,

People always tell me I'm strong.

I know they mean it as a compliment, but lately it feels more like a responsibility I didn't ask for.

I'm the one my family calls when something goes wrong. I'm the friend everyone comes to when they're hurting. At church, people think I have my life together because I'm always serving. At work, I'm the one who stays calm when everyone else is stressed.

The strange thing is... no one ever asks if I'm okay.

Maybe they assume I am because I don't complain much.

The truth is, I'm tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes.

The kind that comes from always being the one who holds everyone else together.

Sometimes I wish someone would notice that I'm struggling without me having to say it.

Sometimes I want to be the one who cries first instead of always handing out tissues.

Then I feel guilty for thinking that because I know people have bigger problems than mine.

Does being strong mean I have to carry everything alone?

— RM, 34

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Dear RM,

The first thing I wanted to do after reading your letter was give you permission to put your bags down.

Not forever.

Just for a little while.

As I read your words, I kept picturing someone carrying groceries.

You know how we do it?

Instead of making two trips, we keep adding more bags to each hand.

"This one too."

"I can manage."

"Just one more."

By the time we reach the door, our fingers hurt.

Our arms are shaking.

But we still tell ourselves, I'm almost there.

I wonder if that's what life has felt like for you.

Not one heavy thing.

Just one more thing.

Then another.

And another.

Until everyone got used to seeing you carry the weight.

There's something I've noticed about people who are called "strong."

The world slowly stops checking on them.

Not because they're unloved.

Because everyone assumes they'll be okay.

It's such an unfair thing, isn't it?

The people who comfort everyone else often become the people no one thinks need comforting.

You wrote something that stayed with me.

"Sometimes I wish someone would notice that I'm struggling without me having to say it."

I sat with that sentence for a while.

Because I don't think what you're asking for is too much.

You're not asking someone to solve your life.

You're asking to be seen.

There's a difference.

I wonder when you last answered, "I'm fine," hoping someone would gently reply,

"Are you sure?"

Not out of curiosity.

Out of care.

Sometimes we become so dependable that people forget we're human.

They admire how much we can carry without realizing the weight is slowly bending our backs.

Can I tell you something I've had to learn the hard way?

Being strong is not the same as never needing help.

For a long time, I thought those were the same thing.

I thought strength meant holding it together.

Smiling.

Showing up.

Keeping everyone else afloat.

But eventually I realized something.

Even the people who pour water into everyone else's cup need someone to refill theirs.

Otherwise, they keep pouring from a cup that's quietly running empty.

I smiled when you said you wanted to be the one who cries first instead of always handing out tissues.

Not because it's funny.

Because it's honest.

I think many people have had that exact thought but felt ashamed to admit it.

Somewhere along the way, we started believing that if we're the strong one, we don't get to fall apart.

Who made that rule?

Because life certainly didn't.

And I don't believe God did either.

Jesus Himself accepted help when He was carrying the cross.

That has always humbled me.

If the Son of God wasn't embarrassed to receive help, why are we?

Maybe we've confused strength with silence.

Maybe we've mistaken exhaustion for faithfulness.

Maybe we've carried things that were never ours to carry alone.

You asked if being strong means carrying everything by yourself.

I don't think it does.

I think real strength sometimes sounds like this:

"I'm not okay today."

"Can you pray for me?"

"I need a break."

"I can't carry this by myself anymore."

Those aren't the words of a weak person.

They're the words of an honest one.

And honesty has a quiet strength of its own.

So the next time someone tells you,

"You're so strong,"

I hope you smile.

But I also hope you remember that strength doesn't cancel your need for comfort.

You deserve to be checked on too.

You deserve to be listened to.

You deserve friends who notice when your smile looks a little heavier than usual.

Most of all, you deserve to rest without feeling guilty for it.

The world will keep telling you to be strong.

I hope you also find people who tell you,

"You don't have to carry this alone."

And when you do, I hope you believe them.

Because even the strongest hearts need somewhere safe to rest.

Komugisa