She hugged me first. Then she asked, “How are you?”
Such a simple question, but I couldn’t answer it. I saw the genuine concern in her eyes and how worried she was for me. Something in me broke open. I didn’t expect a question that small to make me cry that hard.
For the first time, I didn’t try to be strong. I didn’t give the general response, “I’m fine.” I let it out.
She didn’t rush to fix it or try to comfort me with words. She just stayed silent and let me cry.
That silence did more for me than I could explain. I was grateful that I didn’t have to explain anything or apologize for my feelings.
The Words That Taught Me That
“You are such a strong woman,” people would say. “You’re bearing this so well.”
I know they always mean well with those words. But those words did something quiet and harmful. They taught me that being vulnerable meant being weak, that grief was only acceptable if it looked composed.
We’ve been told, in small ways, don’t worry; time will heal your wounds, and so many of us start waiting for time to do the healing instead of actually processing what we feel. We carry unprocessed pain in silence, because we’d rather stay quiet than risk being seen as not okay. We smile on the outside and cry only where no one can see it.
But here’s what I’ve learned: the pain of losing someone we love never fully leaves. No one who has truly grieved stays the same person they were before. And pretending otherwise doesn’t make us stronger. It just makes us more alone in it.
What My Friend Taught Me, Without Saying Much at All
There was no rush to fix my grief that day, no advice, no scripture, no explanation. She just let her presence say what words couldn’t: I’m here. You don’t have to hold this together in front of me.
That’s when I understood: sometimes people don’t need us to say the right thing. They need us to simply stay.
It isn’t just my experience, either. It’s something grief researchers and grievers alike echo often: that trying to explain, fix, or rush someone’s pain rarely helps, even when it’s well-intentioned. What helps more is showing up, staying present, and letting someone feel whatever they feel without trying to talk them out of it.
Grief doesn’t need our strength. It needs our presence.
If You’ve Ever Been Told How Strong You Are
If you’ve ever been handed that compliment, “you’re so strong,” and held back tears you didn’t feel free to show, I want you to know: it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to let someone see you break. It might even be the thing that helps you heal.
You don’t have to be strong for anyone today. You don’t have to hold it together, explain your tears, or earn permission to grieve in your own way.
And if you’re the one showing up for someone else, know this: you don’t need perfect words, and you don’t need to fix anything. Sometimes just showing up, staying present, and letting them feel or express how they feel helps them the most.
What was your own journey like, from believing you had to be strong to letting yourself be vulnerable? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.
You might also enjoy: