The Hidden Cost of Being the Strong One: How Financial Independence Can Lead to Burnout
I’ve always been the strong one. Not because I chose to be, but because life handed me that role early on.
I grew up in the 80s, a latchkey kid with working parents who loved me, but didn’t always have the capacity to be emotionally present. My dad worked jobs around the state and struggled with alcoholism. My mom managed the home, the budget, and so much more than I ever saw at the time. Looking back, I understand how much she carried, especially given her own upbringing—one of nine children, a twin, raised in a household where emotional needs likely came second to basic survival.
I know now: she did her best.
But still, as a little girl, I often felt alone with my thoughts, my questions, and my wants. I turned inward—to my art, my stuffed animals, my imagination—because that’s where I felt most safe.
And like so many women I now work with, I grew into adulthood believing I had to do it all myself. No one had modeled what it meant to ask for support, to share the weight, to trust others with my fears.
At 55, I see how deeply I’ve trained myself to be self-sufficient. And while it’s a strength I’m proud of, it also comes with a cost.
Because being independent doesn’t mean you’re not tired.
And being the strong one doesn’t mean you’re not quietly carrying too much.
This post is for all the women who’ve done it on their own for far too long and are wondering if there’s another way.
The Hidden Cost of Always Being the Strong One
For years, I prided myself on being capable, the one who could figure it out.
But the truth is, strength like that comes at a cost.
My gut has always been the first to show signs of stress—bloating, food sensitivities, the infamous meno belly. My brain rarely shuts off, always scanning for danger, playing out worst-case scenarios in the background like a looping soundtrack.
When Helene hit, my coping strategies kicked in hard: flight and freeze. I spent a lot of time alone, trying to feel safe in my own skin again. And with that came a quiet, creeping return of depression—something I hadn’t felt since my twenties. The weight of being an entrepreneur, the constant financial strain, the isolation... it wore me down.
In September, just before the hurricane, I started working with a somatic therapist. It took multiple sessions before I could even believe what she was telling me: I was burnt out. Completely. I had pushed and performed for so long that I didn’t recognize how fried my nervous system had become.
I could see it in others—I coached clients through it all the time. But when it came to myself? I couldn’t see it until someone lovingly held up a mirror.
Underneath my strength lives fear. Loneliness. Sadness. Grief. Anger.
Being financially independent has been empowering in many ways—I don’t have to answer to anyone else or clean up someone else’s financial mess. But there’s another side to that coin: I carry it all alone. And sometimes that silence is heavy.
Growing up, I watched my mother carry the weight of a family, often unsupported. Somewhere deep inside, I must’ve made a promise to myself that I’d never let that be me. I wouldn’t settle. I wouldn’t rely on someone who might leave me stranded.
And I haven’t.
I’ve built a life around self-reliance, and I’ve strengthened that “single and resilient” muscle to the point that receiving love, care, or support now feels almost...foreign.
That’s the part I’m still unlearning.
What If Strength Looked Different?
The truth is, I’ve felt the whispers for years.
They started around 2018, when I was doing my year-long coaching certification. And again when I launched my business in 2019. At first, I was thrilled to be in charge of my own decisions. It felt empowering to invest in myself and be surrounded by other women doing the same.
I was part of something. I had community. It made all the risk feel worth it.
But slowly, quietly, that feeling began to shift.
By early 2024, I started noticing the weight of it all. I worked alone at home, made every decision myself, carried the stress of cash flow and uncertainty in silence. The excitement had turned into pressure, and the freedom had turned into isolation.
And then Helene hit.
Everything stopped. I hit my wall.
Now, in June of 2025, I can feel something big ending. A chapter closing. I don’t quite know what’s next, but I know I can’t go back to doing it all on my own.
Asking for help still feels edgy. But I’ve had moments—like when I joined coaching circles with other women—where it felt not just safe, but powerful.
I wish someone had told younger me that asking for support doesn’t mean you’re weak. That you can be strong and soft. That you don’t have to carry it all to be worthy of love or respect.
I grew up identifying with my masculine energy—solving, doing, pushing through. And now, at 55, I’m trying to nurture my inner feminine.
The part of me that receives. That rests. That trusts.
The part of me that knows there’s a different kind of power waiting... if I’m willing to soften into it.
If You See Yourself in This…
You’re not alone.
So many strong women have built lives on independence, self-reliance, and quiet perseverance. And while there’s pride in that, there’s also pain.
If this post made you feel seen, I want to leave you with a few gentle steps—not solutions, but small openings.
1. Pause and check in with your body.
Take a breath. Let your shoulders drop. Notice if your jaw is clenched or your stomach tight. These are messages worth listening to.
2. Let yourself want support.
Even if you're not ready to ask for it, allow yourself to want it. That is its own kind of strength.
3. Rewrite your definition of strong.
Try this:
Strength is the ability to rest when I need to.
Strength is letting someone witness me in my mess.
Strength is asking for help, not just offering it.
You don’t have to do it all alone anymore.
If you’re ready for support that honors your story and your nervous system, take the quiz, book a call, or simply join my email list.
There’s no pressure—just an invitation to step out of the weight and into something softer.
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Want to Go Deeper?
If you're tired of holding it all together, The Whisper I’m Finally Listening To offers a tender look at what happens when we finally let ourselves soften.
In my Sacred Money Archetypes® work, the Nurturer archetype explores the pattern of over-responsibility—and how reclaiming your energy can change your financial life.