The Myth of Strong Women and the Cost of Silence

 

“They call us strong when we swallow the scream, wipe the tears, and keep moving.”

I’ve heard that sentence more times than I can count, sometimes in different words, sometimes dressed as a compliment. “You’re so strong.” “I admire how tough you are.” “You always handle everything so well.”

And sure, it sounds nice. Strength is something we’re all taught to aim for, right? But here’s the ugly side of it: most of the time, that so-called strength isn’t really strength. It’s silence disguised as survival.

When “Strong” Feels Like a Cage

I can’t tell you how many times people have called me strong in the exact moments I felt the weakest. Times when my chest was tight with grief, or when anger was bubbling so quietly it scared even me, or when I was simply exhausted to my bones.

That’s the twisted thing: the world doesn’t always notice when you’re cracking inside. They just see you holding it together, still showing up, still functioning. They slap the “strong” label on you like a medal, and you carry it.

But the truth? Sometimes it feels less like a medal and more like a cage.

Because when you’re the “strong one,” people think you’ll always be okay. They unload their stories, their heartbreak, their expectations on you, but rarely stop to ask how much weight you’re already carrying.

The Price of Silence

The cost of this so-called strength is heavy.

It’s the grief that hides behind a polite smile at dinner.

It’s the soft anger that whispers in your chest when someone says, “You’ll get over it.”

It’s the ache that doesn’t leave, just shifts its shape.

We live in a culture that tells women to be resilient, to “move on,” to turn pain into productivity. Smile, hustle, forgive, forget. Be graceful. Be inspiring.

And yet, behind closed doors, so many of us are falling apart quietly. Rage softens into silence. Grief turns into a private ritual we don’t let anyone see. And the worst part? We start believing that’s just how it has to be.

Redefining Strength

I don’t buy that anymore.

Strength is not pretending you’re okay. Strength is not silence.

Strength is allowing yourself to be fully human, messy, complicated, and raw.

The moment I started writing my pain instead of burying it, everything shifted. Journaling became my rebellion against the “strong woman” archetype. On the page, I didn’t have to be graceful. I didn’t have to be inspiring. I didn’t have to swallow my own voice.

I could rage. I could cry. I could tell the truth.

That’s when I realized: the world doesn’t need me to be invincible. It needs me to be real.

Writing as Rebellion

Every time I sat with my journal, I noticed something. My grief stopped suffocating me once I gave it words. My anger stopped eating me alive once I let it spill onto paper.

There’s a deep relief in not censoring yourself, in letting the raw ache come out without worrying how it looks or sounds. Writing became a space where I could finally breathe.

And maybe you know exactly what I mean. Maybe you’ve had moments where you wanted to scream, but instead smiled. Maybe you’ve buried your heartbreak so deep you've almost convinced yourself it wasn’t there. Maybe you’re tired of being the “strong one” everyone admires, while inside you’re crumbling. If that resonates, I made something for you.

A Journal for the Quiet Ache

I created Achework Vol. 2: Soft Anger, Quiet Grief because I needed it myself first.

It’s not another notebook that tells you to “think positive” or “manifest your best self.” No. This is for the parts you’ve been told to hide. The grief that lingers. The rage that simmers softly under your ribs.

Inside are 10 soul-opening prompts designed for high-functioning women who are tired of suppressing the ache. Prompts that don’t ask you to fix yourself, but instead give you permission to feel, fully, unapologetically.

This isn’t about being strong for others. It’s about being honest with yourself.

People will keep calling you strong. Some days, you’ll wear it proudly. Other days, it will feel like a heavy chain.

But strength, real strength, is not about carrying the world on your shoulders silently. It’s about creating space for your anger, your grief, your exhaustion, and still choosing to move forward without abandoning yourself.

If you’re done with being the silent “strong one,” this journal is for you. Get Achework Vol. 2 here