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I have a question for you today: what happens when you stop trying to be strong?
Have you worried about what might happen if you did? Do you fear that everything would fall apart if you allowed yourself to be vulnerable? Maybe this need to be strong started long before your child went to heaven. Maybe it’s been something you’ve carried your entire adult life.
Maybe it began as a projection from childhood — something that became a way of life until it no longer supported you.
For some of us, “being strong” took shape during the long days of our child’s illness. Every day became one long crisis. We held everyone up, managed the emotions in the room, smiled when we wanted to cry, carried the weight of hospital rooms, doctor visits, and hard news no parent should ever have to hear.
For others, strength looked like holding the family together after the funeral — being the steady one. Maybe it meant showing up to work sooner than you should have. Maybe it meant wearing a smile at church or family gatherings when your heart really wanted to hide.
Somewhere along the way, we learned that being strong was what faith looked like — that holding it all together somehow honored God. But what if strength was never the goal? What if God isn’t waiting for you to hold everything up? He is the One who holds all things together — not you.
Today, I’m inviting you to lay it down. To see what happens when the strong one finally lets go — because that moment of release may just be the doorway to the peace you’ve been searching for.
“Each time he said, ‘My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.’ So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me.”
— 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NLT)
Our world frowns on weakness. It labels it as failure or as being “less than.” But God’s Word tells us that His power works best right there — in our weakness.
I’m the youngest of three, but if you knew our family dynamics, you’d assume I was the oldest. I carried the traits of the firstborn — responsible, steady, dependable.
After my son died, I was sitting across from a counselor when she looked straight at me and said, “Teresa, are you wearing the cloak of strong?”
Her choice of words were interesting. I had never realized that “strong” had become part of my personality — something I didn’t even choose. It was simply how my family perceived me: the strong one.
She called it a cloak — something you can take off and put on. But when you’ve worn it so long, you forget it’s something you can remove. That moment opened my eyes to the possibility that I didn’t have to keep wearing it anymore.
“We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps.”
— Proverbs 16:9 (NLT)
We live in a world that tells us strength means control — having a plan, smiling through pain, and keeping everything neat and predictable. But control, in God’s eyes, looks different.
When we read about the fruits of the Spirit in Galatians 5:22, we see that self-control is a gift — not the same as the world’s definition of control. The world’s control says, keep your grip tighter. God’s control says, pause, breathe, let Me lead.
Jesus modeled this for us in Gethsemane. He fell to the ground and prayed,
“My Father, if it is possible, let this cup of suffering be taken from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.” — Matthew 26:39 (NLT)
He didn’t fake it. He didn’t suppress His feelings to prove His faith. He showed us that real strength lives in surrender.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those whose spirits are crushed.”
— Psalm 34:18 (NLT)
Some people say we just need to “accept” our loss, but friend, that word has never sat right with me. I will never accept the death of my son as God’s perfect plan. But I can surrender it — and there’s a big difference.
Surrender is not passive. It’s choosing to lay down what you were never meant to carry alone. It’s saying, Lord, I can’t fix this, but I trust You to hold me in it.
The world rewards independence. God draws near to dependence. He meets you in the crushed places and whispers, You don’t have to hold it together anymore. I’ve got you.
“He gives power to the weak and strength to the powerless.”
— Isaiah 40:29 (NLT)
When you stop trying to be strong, you create space for God’s strength to fill you. Weakness is not the end of faith — it’s where faith begins to breathe again.
Sometimes we think we’re protecting others by keeping it all together. But when we hide our brokenness, we teach our children — and our own hearts — that God only shows up for the strong.
He doesn’t. He shows up for the ones who admit, I can’t do this anymore.
Friend, you are not failing because you’re exhausted. You’re human, and you’ve been carrying far more than one heart should ever have to carry. God isn’t asking you to prove your strength — He’s asking you to trust His.
For the full teaching and scriptures read aloud, press play below to listen to Episode 220 of The Grief Mentor Podcast.
🎧 What Happens When You Stop Holding It Together? The Answer Might Surprise You.
Choose one scripture from today’s blog and carry it with you as an anchor this week.
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