The Cost of Being the ‘Capable One’

Day 1 of the “Soft Rebellion: Choosing Yourself After Surviving Everyone Else” series

There is a kind of grief that doesn’t always have a name. It doesn’t arrive with ceremony or a clear event. It doesn’t demand casseroles or sympathy. It grows slowly, curling into the quiet places of your life, behind your smile in the tightness of your shoulders, and in the moment you say “I’m good” when you are anything but.

That grief belongs to the ones who have always had to be capable.

The ones who never really had the option to fall apart.
The ones who were told “you’re so strong” when they needed someone to notice they were tired.
The ones who were praised for resilience, for managing, for holding it all down—long after it had begun to cost them everything.

I know that grief well. I carried it for years without realizing what it was. It is the grief of self-abandonment disguised as competence. It is the heartbreak of being needed, but not nurtured. Wanted, but not witnessed. Loved, but only when you are useful.

The “capable one” becomes the person others rely on, lean on, call on. We become the problem solver, the planner, the doer, the one with the clipboard, the answer, the plan B, the emergency snacks, the back-up charger, the sixth sense that keeps everyone else afloat. You become the emotional anchor for people who never ask if you’re drowning, too.

At first, it feels like power. It feels like validation. Being needed means being important, right? It does, until it starts to feel like you are disappearing. It does until you notice that no one really checks in on you because they assume you are fine. It does until you realize that people love what you offer, but rarely pause to ask how much it costs you to offer it.

Here's the Messy Truth:
Being the capable one comes with a price, and most of that price is paid in silence.

You sacrifice softness. You suppress your needs. You talk yourself out of asking for help because it feels easier to do it yourself than to deal with disappointment. You carry resentment and then feel guilty for carrying it. You push past your limits because resting feels like failing. You learn to over-function because it is safer than being vulnerable.

Eventually, your body starts to speak for you. The headaches. The fatigue. The tension that won’t let go. The weight of unexpressed emotions that settles into your chest and stays there. Your body remembers every time you chose to hold it together instead of letting yourself be held.

I learned this lesson in my own life, not all at once, but in quiet, painful ways. I burned out while being applauded. I broke down while being told how strong I was. I started to forget who I was outside of being useful, and it terrified me how easy it had become to smile while falling apart.

There is no medal for overextending yourself. No reward for bleeding out in the name of showing up. No honor in being the last one you take care of. It is a hard thing to unlearn, especially when you were raised to believe that strength means silence. That care means sacrifice. That love means enduring everything.

There comes a time when your spirit starts whispering that enough is enough. For me, that whisper became a roar. I began to choose myself, not with flair or drama, but with small rebellions. I started saying no to things that left me empty. I began pausing before volunteering to rescue someone else. I gave myself permission to rest, even when the dishes weren’t done. I told the truth about what I needed, even when my voice shook.

This is the heart of the Soft Rebellion.
It is not about abandoning the people you love.
It is about refusing to abandon yourself in the process.

It is about recognizing that you can still be powerful without performing strength all the time. You can be helpful without being consumed. You can be supportive without self-sacrificing. You can be soft and still worthy of protection.

Choosing yourself after surviving everyone else takes practice. Some days it will feel selfish. Other days it will feel lonely. But it is the most sacred return you will ever make.

You are not here to be everyone’s emergency plan. You are not only valuable when you are holding someone else together. You deserve reciprocity. You deserve rest. You deserve to be seen in the fullness of who you are, not just the roles you fulfill.

If no one has told you lately, let me say this with all the tenderness I can offer:
You are allowed to fall apart sometimes.
You are allowed to ask for help.
You are allowed to be held.
You do not have to earn love with labor.

You are not weak for wanting to be chosen back.

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✍🏾 Journal Prompt:

What part of yourself did you have to bury in order to be “the strong one”?
What would it look like to choose softness instead of strength, just for today?

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About the Author:

Michelle is a mother, herbalist, entrepreneur, and former educator who writes from the messy middle of healing and unlearning. Through Messy Truths & Sacred Roots, she shares raw reflections on burnout recovery, generational trauma, grief, and self-return. Her words are for women who carry too much and crave something softer—who want to live more rooted, more honest, more free. This blog is her love letter to you.

She is also the founder of LimonCrafts: The Burnout Botanica, where she uses her M.S. in Integrative Health Sciences and certification in professional aromatherapy to create plant-based remedies for stress relief and burnout recovery. You can check out her offerings at https://www.limoncraftsherbsandoils.com/