The other day, I was having a conversation with my cousin about what I was looking for in a partner. Alongside the obvious things, kindness, loyalty, and emotional depth, I found myself blurting out something I didn’t expect:
“I want him to be tall and big… so I don’t need to be strong anymore.”
The words surprised me, but they were true.
Being the eldest daughter, I have lived my whole life in strength. Not chosen strength. Necessary strength.
I helped my parents raise my youngest brother, who we heartbreakingly lost last year. I ran the household while still at school. I worked three jobs while studying for my Interior Design qualification.
I went through a divorce while pregnant. I held my Mum in my arms as she took her last breath. I lost my home because of my brother’s drug use and dealing. I moved to the UK with a toddler to start again. I raised my daughter on my own in a new country.
And because I never complain, because I always keep going, people look at me and assume I’m untouchable. Fine. Unbreakable.
But here’s the truth: I have been broken. I have fallen apart. I have been shattered. I have been fed up with life and living. More times than anyone knows.
What this conversation with my cousin revealed is this:
Sometimes being the strong one means you’ve never had the safety to fall apart.
And maybe that’s what I long for most. Not a man to “fix” me. Not someone to carry all my burdens. But someone who can simply say:
“I’m here. I see you. I understand. I’ve got you.”
No judgment.
No assumptions.
No forced positivity.
Just presence. Just safety.
Because strength is heavy when it’s never shared. And even the strongest women deserve to lay it down.
Practical Ways to Give Yourself Safety (Even Before Someone Else Does)
Build micro-sanctuaries. A journal, a prayer, a walk in the woods. Places where you don’t have to perform strength.
Create safe friendships. Share with people who don’t rush to fix, but who simply sit beside you.
Practise soft rituals. A bath, music, breathing exercises, anything that reminds your body it doesn’t always have to be on guard.
Reframe strength. True strength isn’t about never breaking. It’s allowing yourself to be fully human, cracks and all.
Ask for what you need. Sometimes people don’t know how heavy your load is. Let them in.
This is midlife’s truth: we’ve carried so much, for so long. Children, parents, careers, losses, loves. And yes, we are strong, but strength was never supposed to mean alone.
So here’s what I’m learning: being the strong one doesn’t mean I can’t fall apart. It means I’m still here, still open, still human enough to need what I’ve always given others: care, presence, love.
And one day, maybe that partner will come. Someone big enough in spirit to hold me steady when I finally let go.
Until then, I remind myself daily: it’s safe to soften.
Journaling Prompt
Where in my life do I long to be held instead of holding, and how can I begin to give myself that safety now?
Inspired Call-to-Action
Today, lay down one piece of armour. Share your truth with someone safe, or create a ritual that allows you to soften. Let yourself practise the art of being held.
Need a soft space to land in the middle of it all?
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