Therapy Isn’t Just For Crisis—It’s For Coming Home To Yourself

She shows up. She listens. She holds space. She remembers birthdays, comforts others in chaos, and never forgets to ask how you’re doing - even when she’s falling apart. But when the time comes for her to be held, to be asked, to be heard - there’s silence. In therapy rooms, I meet these women every day. They are daughters, mothers, partners, CEOs, creatives, and caregivers. Strong women who are tired, not just from the weight of daily responsibilities, but from the invisible emotional labour they’ve been trained to carry since childhood.

They’re emotionally fluent, available, and giving. And somewhere along the way, they began believing their ability to be there for everyone else meant they weren’t allowed to ask for the same.

The Burden of “Being the Strong One”

You could be the youngest in the family or the eldest, married or single, childfree or a mother - emotional availability isn’t tied to your role, it’s tied to your gender. For generations, women have been praised for their grace under pressure, their silence in pain, and their ability to smile through heartbreak. But beneath that calm lies centuries of emotional suppression, dressed up as strength.

The selfless woman. The tireless giver. The one who never breaks. We have worn these like medals, handed down by generations, and now pinned proudly on our chests - not always out of choice, but out of survival. What began as a cultural expectation has quietly transformed into self-identification.

“I’m the strong one.” We whisper it with pride. We shout it in the silence of our breakdowns. And we hold on to it even when our hearts are begging for softness. Because somewhere along the way, we were taught that emotional vulnerability is a weakness. That breaking down means breaking apart. It’s safer and more respectable to hold it together than to fall apart.

But what if it’s not? What if strength isn’t in the holding on, but in the letting go?

Emotional Availability: A One-Way Street?

Once, in a quiet moment, my husband asked me: "What’s the one thing you deeply desire from me?" And without flinching, I said, “emotional intimacy”.

I didn’t want more grand gestures. I wasn’t asking for constant attention. I just wanted someone to witness my emotional world the way I had witnessed his. But somewhere, between being a “good girlfriend,” a “supportive wife,” and an emotionally mature partner, I forgot what it felt like to receive. 

Because it’s the relationship that always came first. His needs. His feelings. His emotional waves, and my calm shores. Even with all my awareness as a psychologist and a woman, I started to feel the cracks. The constant giving. The constant holding. The constant permission I offered him to be vulnerable, but I rarely received it back.

And now, I’m tired. Tired of being the strong one. Tired of being the safe space for someone else when I can’t even find one for myself. Tired of never hearing, “It’s okay to not be okay” directed at me.

And yet, admitting that feels like failure. Like giving up. But what if it’s not giving up? What if it’s finally asking for reciprocity?

Why Therapy is Not Just for "Crisis"

What if I told you that even in couples therapy sessions, I often find myself gently interrupting women to say:

“Something important just happened here. I saw you started talking about him again. Can I pause you for a moment and get back to how ‘you’ are feeling right now?”

I assure them, “I’ll hold space for him, but right now, I want you to tell me about you.”

In those little pauses, I witness a hesitation, not because they’re afraid to speak, but because they’ve never really known they could speak for themselves. Putting themselves first feels like learning a new language - a foreign concept, almost like introducing them to a word they never knew existed.

To say “I need,” “I want,” or “I feel” feels like rebellion. Because for so long, their emotional compass was directed outward - to care, to hold, to listen. No one ever told them that they, too, were allowed to be held.

Often, therapy is not about a dramatic crisis. It’s about a silent craving - the craving to be seen, heard, held.

Women sit across from me asking, “Can someone just make me feel like I matter? Like my inner child is safe?” 

Because out in the world, with friends, families, partners, they’ve always been the strong ones. But in their most intimate relationships, they don’t want to wear that armour.

They want to feel small, tender, loved - not for their strength, but for their softness.

So yes, therapy isn’t just for breaking points. It’s for those hidden parts of you that you’ve trained yourself to suppress. It’s for the moments when you deny your needs and label it as strength.

Maybe it’s not strength. Maybe it’s self-abandonment in disguise.

And maybe, just maybe - there’s a softer way to exist.

In therapy, we often say: your needs are not a burden, they’re a bridge. A bridge to connection, to healing, to finally coming home to yourself. You're allowed to take up that space. You're allowed to matter to you.

And if that feels hard to believe right now… this next part is for you.

To Every Strong Woman Reading This

You were never meant to carry it all. Somewhere along the way, you learned that love means selflessness. That strength means silence. That your needs should come last.

But you’re allowed to unlearn that.

You’re allowed to want softness. To be seen without being strong. To say “I need” without guilt.

In therapy, we don’t ask you to be less - we help you come home to more of yourself.

Your needs aren’t a burden. They’re a bridge.

And you?

You are not too much. You are not too late. You’re just finally beginning to matter - to you.

Views expressed by the author are their own.