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Recently, I had a rough day and decided to share it on social media. In response, someone told me, “You’re so resilient.” I had to fight back the urge to throw my laptop out the window. They intended it as a compliment, a way of saying, “You’re managing well, keep it up.” What I craved to hear instead was: “I’m here for you. I acknowledge your struggle. It’s okay to let it all go.”
As a parent in today’s world, I’m weary of being dubbed “resilient.” My days often feel like I’m trying to herd a group of wild cats. I love my children dearly; they bring joy into my life. However, there are moments when they can be overwhelming—too loud, too many, just too much. On particularly chaotic days, when they’re all clamoring for attention, I often wish I could just cover my ears and scream. But I can’t. As my therapist reminds me, when my household descends into chaos, I must be the emotionally stable one. It’s exhausting.
I’m tired of being the one who has to hold it together. I’m exhausted from being called resilient.
I’m as strong as the coffee I gulp down at dawn to get through my day. The sun can take its sweet time rising; I’ve made friends with the birds that sing long before it does. I’m so strong that sleeping in has become a distant memory. My body wakes me at five or five-thirty. It’s dark and lonely, while my partner snores peacefully. Friends often ask how I manage to wake up so early, admiring my dedication and wishing they could do the same. But I want to shout: I wake up at this hour because I have to.
I juggle work, household chores, and the demands of parenting, which often leaves me with little time for myself. Maybe you relate—perhaps those early hours are your only moment of solitude before the chaos begins. You’ve learned to embrace those quiet moments, and people commend you for your productivity. They see you as a busy bee, thriving in the early morning.
When I post something on social media at 4 a.m., I secretly wish someone would respond with: “Why on earth are you awake at this hour?”
Like many of us, I share articles and memes online that resonate with my experiences—some humorous, others painfully relatable, touching on topics like parental challenges and emotional struggles. Sometimes, I’ll even say, “This hits home.” And then come the comments: “You’re so resilient. You handle this so well.”
You likely do the same when sharing your own hardships, whether it’s about a breakup, a family loss, or other traumatic experiences. Friends often reply with encouragement, telling you how brave you are. They mean well, but sometimes those words feel hollow.
What I truly want, like many of you, is to be allowed to feel my pain without the pressure to be strong. I want someone to say, “It’s okay to break down. I’m here for you. This situation is tough, and I recognize that.” I long for the comfort of knowing I don’t have to wear a brave face all the time.
Even regarding therapy, friends express their pride in my willingness to seek help. They call me strong for acknowledging my need for support. Yet, those words can feel empty when the reality is that therapy is hard work. It’s a journey filled with fear and trauma. Instead of accolades, I need someone to sit with me, to say, “You can cry. You don’t have to be strong anymore.”
What we really need to hear is: “You don’t have to be strong anymore.” We want the reassurance that it’s okay to let go, to express our emotions freely, whether that means crying, screaming, or simply sitting in silence. We shouldn’t have to explain ourselves. For just a moment, we need to put down the weight we carry.
Life on this planet is fleeting—let’s not waste it on empty phrases about strength. Let’s strive to truly see each other’s pain. If you truly care, reach out. Offer your support, even if it’s just listening to someone cry for an hour. It’s easy to tell someone they’re strong; it’s far more meaningful to show up and be present.
So, instead of labeling us as resilient, see us in our messy, raw state and say, “You’re not alone.”