When I first started practicing psychotherapy, I have to admit that I had the wrong expectations about the people who would come into the practice.

I thought, and even feared a little, that I would only meet people with serious mental problems, people with deep depressions and dragged after them for decades, substance addicts, schizophrenics and so on.

In reality, I most often meet two categories of people:

Those who have been through a rough patch and want to make a change but don’t know where to start
The strong ones, on whom everyone relies, and who feel they can’t

The first category was to be expected, but the second took me by surprise. But then, as I met more and more of these strong people, who hold not just their own family, but even their entire family tree (sure, those still alive on that tree) on their shoulders, I realized that I made the same mistake, just like everyone else.

The mistake of assuming that a strong man doesn’t need help, doesn’t need to complain from time to time, doesn’t need someone to listen to him and understand that he hurts.

When you’re strong, no one asks you if you can still

I don’t know you, so I don’t know how your strength manifests itself. Maybe you have a large family to support, maybe you have a business to run and hundreds of employees who depend on you, maybe you have a profession with a high degree of responsibility (i.e. people can die if you make a mistake).

I’m not referring now to people for whom every little effort is a tragedy, nor to those who whine at every turn about every little inconvenience we all have to deal with. I’m talking about those who really need to be strong, because there’s no other way.

If you’re in this situation, listen carefully. I’m not going to tell you to stop being strong. I’m not going to try to explain to you that you can’t do it all. I’m not going to slip into some mystical-spiritualist rant about what’s important in life.

But I will tell you something you need to hear.

You don’t have to be a martyr, besides being strong. You’re allowed to stop, to gasp, to scream in pain or despair, if that’s what you need at times.

It’s hard enough what you’re doing and without playing this cheap theatre it’s easy enough on top of that. Those who understand what you’re doing already know it’s hard. And the others won’t understand anyway, because they don’t care.

If you sometimes break down and burst into tears, for example, that doesn’t make you any less strong. It just makes you human. And humans are not machines, even the strongest and most efficient among us.

You know very well that, however, even if you break down in a moment, as soon as you let off steam you’ll wipe your tears, shake off the dust and get back to what you’re doing. It’s not like if you stop, you stop altogether.

I’m not telling you to break down in public or post any nonsense on Facebook, but at least to yourself try not to hide. Allow yourself to feel the vulnerability you have. Vulnerability is not weakness. And even if you run away from it, it doesn’t go away, it comes after you. So there’s no point in trying anyway.

If it’s hard for you, at least admit to yourself that it’s hard. There’s no victory in not being hard. Victory is to keep going even when it’s hard.

If you’re strong, don’t wait for someone to ask you if you’re hard.

Most likely no one will ask you. Those around you are better off having someone to lean on. And even if they wanted to ask you, they wouldn’t do it out of fear. Afraid of telling them exactly what they’re afraid to hear: that you can’t.

Besides, all people have problems in their lives. If they’re used to solutions coming from you, they’re not likely to be too happy about you coming to them with an extra problem.

It’s normal to feel that

What you do is called ultra-performance. I said I’m not going to try to convince you to stop because I know that ultra-performance is possible.

But it comes at a price, and that is that every now and then you fall down and you mourn. Perfectly upward evolution is a myth. It usually doesn’t look like that unless seen from a great distance.

Like in the picture below:

real evolution

So, sorry to tell you, the question is not if you’ll fall again, but when. And, more importantly, how quickly you’ll get up afterwards.

If you don’t want to fall with a thud and take a serious knock, you’d better give yourself time to catch your breath and bandage your wounds. At least when you’re alone, unless you want to seek support from someone else.

Because if you give in at all, you already know what’s coming. The thing you fear the most. Not that others won’t manage without you, especially since that may not even be true.

It’s that you will have failed.