The Loneliness of the Strong

 No one worries about you. 

You’re the calm one. The capable one. The person others lean toward when things fall apart.

You’re the one who keeps your voice steady when the room is loud.

Who knows what to do next.

Who doesn’t panic, even when everyone else does.

And because of that, no one asks how you’re holding up.

They assume you’re fine. 

They assume you can handle it.

They assume that strength means self-contained, self-sustaining, untouched.

But strength doesn’t mean you don’t feel things.

It just means you’ve learned how to carry them quietly.

There’s a particular loneliness that comes with being the strong one- a loneliness that doesn’t look like isolation from the outside.

You’re surrounded by people. You’re relied on. You’re needed. You’re trusted. You’re respected. 

And still, something in you feels unseen.

Not because anyone is unkind.

Not because anyone doesn’t care.

But because no one thinks to look.

You don’t talk about it..

You don’t want to be a burden.

You don’t want to be the problem after spending all day solving the problem.

So you do what strong people do:

You keep going.

You finish the shift. 

You restock the truck. 

You drive home. 

You shower. 

You show up again tomorrow.

And somewhere in the quiet moments- the drive home, the empty kitchen, the pause before sleep- you feel it.

That ache.

Not a desire to be rescued.

Not a wish to fall apart.

Just a quiet longing to be seen.

To have someone notice without you having to explain.

To be asked, without prompting, “How are you really?”

To be held in the same way you hold everyone else.

Wanting that doesn’t make you weak.

It doesn’t mean you can’t handle your job.

It doesn’t mean you're burned out or broken.

It means you’re human.

It means you’ve spent a long time being the steady one, and some part of you would like to rest in someone else’s awareness for a moment.

There is nothing wrong with that.

In a world that praises you for being strong, it can feel risky to admit you want to be seen. As if needing acknowledgement somehow cancels out competence.

As if tenderness is something you have to earn by breaking first.

But you don’t.

You don’t have to fall apart to deserve care.

You don’t have to justify your feelings with a crisis.

You don’t have to wait until you can’t carry it anymore.

It’s ok to want someone to notice.

It’s ok to want to be asked. 

It’s ok to want to be held- emotionally, quietly, without fixing or explaining.

The strongest people often carry the deepest loneliness. Not because they are fragile, but because they are rarely met with the same attention they give.

Know this: 

You are not invisible because you don’t matter.

You are unseen because you are capable.

And you are allowed to want more than that.

Your strength has never been in question, and it never will be. But you don’t have to carry everything alone.

You’re allowed to want to be seen- by a partner, by a peer, by someone who gets it.

Sometimes just being asked, “How are you really?” is the first step toward feeling a little less alone in the weight you carry. 

And you deserve that too.