Dawn Punter

When you’re a child, they tell you who you are.
“You’re so grown up.”
“So STRONG.”
“So sensible.”
“Different… born with a wise head on small shoulders.”
You don’t really understand what strong means, but you try to become it anyway.
Because that’s what they see. That’s what they want from you.
So you try to be STRONG.

Then slowly, quietly, it becomes expected.
Not just noticed, no longer admired, not even spoken… just needed.

The adults who are supposed to be there for you aren’t.
But they need you to be STRONG.
They share things you were never meant to carry.
Their worries. Their weight. Their storms.
And you listen.
Because you are STRONG.

So you try harder.

When they can’t cope with your siblings because their own lives are too heavy, they turn to you.
“You’re the sensible one.”
“You’ll understand.”
“I need space.”
“Go look after them.”
So you do.
You hold more.
You become more.
You try to be STRONGER.

And your siblings begin to see it too.
You are the STRONG one.
The reliable one.
The one who doesn’t break.
So you try even harder.

And the pattern grows with you.
Parents.
Siblings.
Partners.
Bosses.
Colleagues.
Try harder.
Be more.
Hold it all.
Be STRONG.

But strength, when it’s never put down, becomes heavy.
Uncarryable.
It seeps into the spaces that were once just you.
Quietly replacing rest.
Replacing innocence.
Replacing joy.

Until one day, there are cracks.
Small at first.
Easy to hide.
You patch them.
You push through.
You try harder.
Remember… you are STRONG.

But the cracks spread.
And when the pieces start to fall, people don’t see the breaking.

They only see the absence.

“You’re not there for me anymore.”
“You’ve changed.”
“You’re being selfish.”
“You’re running away.”
But you’re not.
You’re holding what’s left of yourself together.

For the first time, you realise…
you can’t be what they need you to be.
And that feels like failure.
Like guilt.
Like letting everyone down.
Because you’ve always been the STRONG one.

So you try, finally, to build something different.
Boundaries.
Space.
Room to breathe.
You try to protect the broken pieces.
And people resist.
“Where’s the strong one?”
“I only want to talk to the strong version of you.”
“Stop being selfish.”

You would try harder…
but you can’t anymore.
So you step away.
Not to abandon them,
but to find yourself.
To mend.
To rest.
To become whole in a way you were never allowed to be before.
And when you return, if you return…
something will be different.
You won’t be strong in the way they expect.
You will be strong for yourself.
And that isn’t selfish.
It’s survival.
Because being strong for everyone else
was never meant to be your life’s role.