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.”