The unseen cost of being the strong one!!

 Years ago, someone told me, “The stronger you are, the more pain you will face.” I acknowledged them silently, but a raw thought echoed in my head: Is that why you choose to give me pain?

This simple statement encapsulates the paradox of my life: I was given no choice but to be strong. I had to learn to handle myself on my own terms. Yet, despite the outer composure, I felt profoundly weak inside. I rarely shared this pain, letting only a trusted few—a handful of friends and family—see the cracks.

The Illusion of "Faking It"

I remember my youngest brother, with the best intentions, advising me to distract myself: "Go watch movies, spend a few hours in a good mood." I listened. I watched many films. But my sadness was always waiting. The moment the credits rolled, it would visit me back, unannounced and relentless.

I learned that trying to be strong, or perhaps faking to be strong, still hurts. We do this because society teaches us that vulnerability is a liability—that people will criticize us, mock us, or exploit us if we break down. So, we suppress our emotions and fake normalcy.

That time, it took me the longest time to find internal normalcy again. My outer world might have seen my routine intact, but I know the silent war that raged inside.

The Final Breakdown of Emotion

Sometimes I analyze the final stage of deep sadness or depression. It's not a burst of tears; it's when you feel no emotions at all.

When life scares you too much, the last thing that happens is a desperate surge of self-preservation. You start pushing that overwhelming fear back, and in that process, all your emotions seem to vanish. You feel nothing inside.

When I look back today, I wonder: What would have excited me before now leaves me emotionless. Was that strength? I still don't know the answer.

Why Are We Learning to Be Strong?

This brings me to the fundamental, lingering question: If everything is meant to pass, if life is just a sum total of experiences, and we ultimately take nothing with us—then why are we learning to be strong?

Even if there is rebirth, and we are bound to forget the learnings of this life, what is the reward?

The truth is, being the strong one means to shoulder responsibilities as if you are alone. It feels like a constant, crushing burden, and the mind longs for escape.

I acknowledge that I would have been happier to be the "weak one," with someone always taking care of me, rather than me being the one to take care of everyone else. But life chose me for this role.

That inner child in me still screams sometimes, asking: Why do I need to do this alone, like a toddler left to fend for herself?

But perhaps, the answer lies in the doing. The reward isn't external validation or a future life free of pain; perhaps the reward is the unshakeable competence and peace we build within ourselves, brick by brick, by refusing to collapse when every outside force suggests we should.