She donned Strength as a necessity.

Strength fit her well as if tailored for her very soul.

Strength hung like a heavy overcoat, covering up her true self.

Strength whispered from time to time,

“Be the strong one.”

“Don’t show weakness.”

 

She listened; obeyed.

Strength served her well as pain and trauma abounded in her young life.

Strength became a default mechanism, an automatic response.

Others admired her strength, not knowing the cost to her battered soul.

Strength protected her; she hid behind Strength.

The time has come; Strength must slip off her shoulders and fall to the ground.

Oh, there is a wrenching, a wrenching in her soul.

Whispered words heal,

“You don’t have to be the strong one anymore.”