What Being the ‘Strong One’ Really Cost Me

Journal Entry | June 10, 2025   |   1:47 AM

Dear Her,

I’ve been thinking about how much I carried before I ever had the words for it. Here’s to me freeing myself.

At 18 years old, I found myself behind bars—not because I was reckless, but because I was desperate. Desperate to make money. Desperate to survive. Desperate because I had no real safety net. No strong family support. No blueprint for success—just expectations without assistance.

From the outside, I was “the smart one,” the “strong one,” the one who would “be fine.” But let’s talk about how dangerous that label is. Being labeled “strong” meant I was overlooked. Being the oldest meant I was expected to hold everything down while no one held me. I was praised for being low-maintenance, independent, and mature—when in reality, I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and robbed of the chance to be taken care of.

My mother cried broke, but child support checks came in like clockwork. She had resources—she just chose not to pour into me. And when I left that house, it didn’t feel like a milestone—it felt like relief for them AND me. Like they finally got rid of a responsibility. Like I had done my time.

No one ever asked me, “Are you okay?” Instead, I was expected to give, give, give. Give respect. Give results. Give back. But who was giving to me?

🔎 Soft Rage & Realizations

💔I was 18, not broken—just unsupported.

At 18, I was a child forced into survival mode. I made choices under pressure, not out of rebellion, but out of necessity. Needing to make money because my own family didn’t provide a secure foundation is not my failure. That’s on the adults who were supposed to protect and guide me—and instead made my life harder.

🧠The “smart one” is often the most neglected.

It’s a curse sometimes to be the “strong” or “smart” one, because people assume you don’t need help. But being intelligent doesn’t mean I don’t feel pain. Being capable doesn’t mean I don’t deserve care. I was written off because they assumed my strength would save me, while they exploited it.

💰My mother wasn’t broke—she just didn’t pour into me.

Knowing now that my mother had the resources, support, and income to do better—yet chose not to—is heartbreaking. She chose self-preservation, appearances, and control over building a legacy of love and stability for me. And what’s worse? She likely saw me as a resource herself. Not a child to nurture, but someone to lean on or blame.

🕊️My healing is proof, not punishment.

I am not the product of broken parenting. I’m proof that healing is possible despite it. What happened to me is not my fault—but me surviving? That’s my superpower. I honor my younger self by saying: