“Strength is not how little you feel. It’s how deeply you allow yourself to feel without shutting down.”
You’ve probably heard it.
'You’re so strong.' 'You’re handling this so well.'
But maybe you’re not.
Maybe you’re collapsing in private. Maybe you cry in the shower and whisper their name into your pillow. Maybe you're holding a thousand pieces together with quiet desperation.
And maybe that’s not weakness — it’s humanity.
Grief doesn’t ask you to be heroic. It asks you to be real.
To say, 'I’m not okay today.' To admit you don’t know how to do this. To let someone hold your hand while you tremble.
You don’t get a medal for bottling your sorrow. And you don’t need one.
You are allowed to be soft. Fragile. Messy. Honest.
Because the truth is: that *is* strength. The kind that doesn’t shout or posture — the kind that heals.
Sit or lie down somewhere quiet. Place your hands loosely at your sides. Inhale slowly and say silently: 'I don’t have to be strong right now.' Exhale and let the tension leave your body. Repeat this for several minutes until something in you loosens.
Tell one person today — honestly — how you're really feeling. No edits. No bright sides. Just truth. And let them care for you, even if only for a moment.
Lena W. “People kept telling me I was so strong, but I didn’t feel strong at all. The day I finally admitted I wasn’t okay — everything changed. A friend just sat with me. No advice, no fixing. That was the moment I felt safe enough to begin healing.”
Being real is braver than being strong.