I grew up with a mother who embodied the myth of the “strong woman” so completely that I didn’t even realize it was a myth. It was just… life. It was the air we breathed.

My mom endured. She held down a full-time job, raised me and my sister, did all the cooking and cleaning, managed every appointment, every school meeting, every crisis. She carried the emotional weight of our home, too—my dad’s ambition, his drinking, his anger. She absorbed it all quietly, without complaint, without rest, without ever asking why she was so tired.

And because she never questioned it, I didn’t either.

I learned early that a woman’s worth was measured by how much she could carry without breaking. I learned that exhaustion was normal, that silence was noble, that self-sacrifice was love. I learned that being “the strong one” was the highest compliment a girl could earn.

It took me years—decades—to realize that what I inherited wasn’t strength. It was survival.

And survival has a cost.

Not just for me, but for my mom too.

How We Got Here: A Brief History of Why Women Were Taught to Be Strong

This myth didn’t appear out of nowhere. It was shaped by centuries of social expectations that told women their value came from holding everything together.

For most of history:

• Women had fewer rights and fewer choices

• Their survival depended on keeping the household functioning

• They were expected to absorb emotional tension to keep the peace

• They were praised for endurance, not supported in their needs

• They were taught to put family stability above their own well-being

When you live in a world where your safety, reputation, and survival depend on being agreeable, capable, and endlessly accommodating, you learn to be strong in ways that cost you.

Women weren’t encouraged to rest. They weren’t encouraged to express anger. They weren’t encouraged to ask for help. They weren’t encouraged to have needs.

So they learned to endure.

And endurance became the definition of womanhood.

Even as society changed, the expectations didn’t. The world modernized, but the emotional script stayed the same. Women entered the workforce, but the household responsibilities didn’t shift with them. They became “strong” because they had to be—because the alternative was letting everything fall apart.

This is how the myth survived. Not because it was healthy, but because it was necessary.

The Hidden Cost of Being ‘Strong’

When you’re the strong one:

• People admire you but rarely support you

• You become the emotional anchor for everyone else

• You learn to ignore your body until it collapses

• You confuse endurance with identity

• You lose access to softness, rest, and reciprocity

Strength becomes a cage disguised as a compliment.

And the worst part? You don’t even realize you’re in it.

How We Continue the Pattern

Women like my mom—and women like me—don’t just inherit the myth. We replicate it.

We over-function. We over-give. We over-extend. We over-perform.

We become the reliable one at work, the caretaker in relationships, the emotional translator in our families. We carry the weight because we were taught that dropping it makes us weak.

But the truth is: Strength without support is not strength. It’s depletion.

How We Shift: A New Model of Womanhood

We don’t break the myth by becoming less capable. We break it by becoming more human.

The shift begins when women:

• Stop apologizing for needing rest

• Stop carrying what isn’t theirs

• Stop performing emotional labor by default

• Stop confusing silence with peace

• Stop believing they have to earn love through exhaustion

And it continues when men, partners, families, and communities learn to:

• Share the load

• Encourage women’s goals and vitality

• Support women’s friendships, hobbies, and joy

• Ask “How can I help?” instead of assuming she’ll handle it

• See women as full humans, not endless resources

A healthy relationship—romantic or otherwise—is one where a woman is not the default caretaker, crisis manager, or emotional shock absorber.

A healthy culture is one where women are allowed to be supported, not just admired for surviving.

Questions to Ask Yourself

• Where did I learn that being strong meant being silent?

• Who benefits from me being the strong one?

• What parts of me have I abandoned in the name of resilience?

• What would my life look like if I allowed myself to be supported?

• What does softness feel like in my body today?

Closing 

You were never meant to be a fortress. You were meant to be a home—first to yourself, and then to the people who earn the right to enter.

And homes don’t need to be strong. They need to be lived in.