I wasn’t strong

They tell me I’m strong.

They look me in the eyes and say it like it’s a badge of honor: “You’re so strong.”

“God gives His toughest battles to His strongest soldiers.”

“You’ll make it—you’re tough.”

But what if I’m not?

What if I never asked to be the strong one?

What if I am bone-tired from trying to stand upright in the storm?

What if “strength” has been nothing more than a mask I was forced to wear so others wouldn’t feel uncomfortable with my reality?

I’ve started to wonder if all those phrases we repeat are less about truth and more about easing the tension in the room. Maybe they were said to keep the silence from growing too heavy. Maybe they were whispered so no one had to sit with me in the wreckage for too long.

Here’s the truth:

God didn’t choose me because I was strong.

He didn’t look at me and say, “You can handle this, you’ll survive.”

No.

He held me because I wasn’t strong.

He carried me because my knees buckled under the weight.

He caught the prayers that died in my throat before they could find words.

He heard the cries that never escaped my lips.

He wept with me—heaven bending low to sit in my ashes.

The cross was not about human strength.

It was surrender.

It was agony and obedience braided together.

It was pain stitched with purpose.

And so is this season I’m in.

A tapestry of holy ache and relentless mercy.

So don’t tell me this happened because I could handle it. Don’t crown me with resilience I never really had. Instead—tell me God never left.

Tell me He’s still here—here in the ache, here in the silence, here in the slow and sacred mending of my shattered places.

Tell me He is not just the God of the mountaintop shout, but the God of the midnight sob. Tell me His presence is steady when my faith feels fragile.

Because I don’t need the world to applaud my strength. I need to know His hands are still holding me when I fall apart.

I need to know my broken heart is still holy ground.

And I need to remember that survival is not the proof of my strength—

it is the evidence of His.