Being the Strong One is Exhausting

People love to call you strong.
They admire how you hold it all together.
They see your resilience, your independence, your leadership.
But they don’t see the cost.

They don’t see you sitting on the bathroom floor of a hotel room during a family vacation—after snapping at kids because your nervous system was fried, and your body was screaming for a break.
They don’t know how you isolated yourself to keep from completely unraveling before a baby shower for someone else. How you waited… hoping someone would knock, ask if you were okay, offer a hug or just see you in that moment.

But no one did.

Because when you're the strong one, people expect you to bounce back.

So you pulled yourself together.
You did your makeup in silence.
Drew on a burgundy smile.
And walked out of that bathroom like everything was fine—like you were happy and strong again.
Like your breakdown didn’t just echo through joined hotel walls.

Because that’s what the strong one does.

What “Strong” Really Looks Like

For me, strength isn’t about having it all together—it’s about holding it all even when it hurts.

It’s being the sole provider.
Parenting my daughter while re-parenting myself.
Being the leader at work.
Being the one people cry to—but never cry for.

At work, I’m the decision maker.
The one who holds the line, gives direction, provides jobs, and sometimes has to take them away.

I’ve looked single moms in the eye—moms like me—and told them they were being let go.
I’ve seen their shoulders sink under the weight of uncertainty.
And then I’ve had to return to my team, smile, and lead like nothing cracked open inside me. Because leadership expected grace under pressure… but rarely offered grace back.

I carry trauma that doesn’t belong to me, but somehow became my responsibility.

The Emotional Labor of Being the Safe Space

I’m also the safe space in my friendships.
The listener. The one who lets others vent, unload, fall apart.

But when I need support? When I have fears, sadness, or burnout?

It’s brushed off—because “You always figure it out.”
Because I’m educated. Capable. Resourceful. Resilient.

Because I’m strong.

But strength should never mean invisibility.
And being strong shouldn’t mean I don’t get to be held too.

The Mom Who Pushes Through

My daughter is only one.
She’s discovering her independence. Testing boundaries. Living fully.

And I’m the mom who cheers when she tries something new.
The mom who gives softness, patience, presence.

But I’m also the mom who just wants to sit and scroll and regulate—because I’m drained.
And when I cry in front of her? She wipes my tears with her tiny hands.
It breaks my heart to see her trying to console me, when she should never have to.

So I wipe my own tears.
I breathe deep.
I hold her hand—and my feelings—and I carry us through to bedtime.

The Weight of Holding It All

It’s hard to be the one everyone else relies on to feel complete, supported, and validated…
when you don’t always have that for yourself.

That’s why I created The EmpowerYa.

Because women like us need a space where we’re not just celebrated for surviving, but supported in our softness.
Where strength doesn’t mean silence.
Where our breakdowns are met with care, not distance.
Where we are seen—not just for what we carry, but for who we are.

If You’ve Been Carrying It Too…

You’re not alone.

You can be powerful and still tired.
You can be “together” and still unraveling.
You can be the strong one and still deserve softness, patience, and room to exhale.

We don’t have to earn rest.
We don’t have to shrink our pain to be worthy of love.
We don’t have to carry it all without being carried too.

This Is Why The Village Exists

EmpowerYa isn’t about perfection—it’s about truth.
It’s about building a new narrative for Black single mothers and strong women everywhere.

So if you’re the one everyone leans on, this space was built for you.

Come be part of the village.
Let yourself be held here.

With strength and softness,
Shatarra