You’re functioning. You’re showing up. You’re doing what needs to be done. And from the outside, you look strong.
But inside, it’s something else entirely.
You don’t feel proud. You don’t feel powerful. You barely feel at all. Just a muted buzz in your chest. A low hum behind your eyes. Like your body is moving, but your soul hasn’t caught up in days.
This isn’t strength.
This is survival wearing a strong face.
This Is What It Feels Like When Strong Becomes Silent
At first, it’s subtle.
You stop answering texts.
You scroll but don’t connect.
You show up to work, to family, to life—but it’s more like checking boxes than being present.
You’re tired, but sleep doesn’t help. You’re calm, but not peaceful. You’re quiet, but not rested.
You are not broken.
You are just disconnected. From your joy. From your softness. From the part of you that used to feel deeply, cry freely, or get excited over small things.
This is what happens when strength hardens.
When “I’ve got this” turns into “I don’t even know what I feel anymore.”
How It Looks on Him. How It Feels in Her.
For men, numbness often looks like stillness. He stops talking.
-He works more. Or checks out completely.
-He sits in silence and tells himself, “I’m just tired.”
But underneath that silence is a soul that’s starved of softness. No one ever taught him how to ask for comfort. Only how to tough it out. So he holds it in—until he doesn’t. And when the moment comes that he breaks, he thinks it means he’s failed.
For women, numbness often feels like disconnection.
-She’s still doing everything—checking in, cleaning up, organizing life. But she’s far away, even from herself.
-She gets quieter. Colder. Not because she doesn’t care, but because she’s been caring for everyone but herself for so long that she forgot what she needs.
She doesn’t fall apart in front of you. She disappears in plain sight. And if you don’t look closely, you’ll miss it.
So What Do You Do When You Feel Nothing—But You’re Tired of Carrying Everything?
You start by not pretending. You stop calling it strength when it’s actually shutdown. You name it.
“I feel disconnected.”
“I haven’t felt like myself in a while.”
“I’m showing up—but I’m not really here.”
Then, you stop performing calmness and start making room for aliveness. Even if it’s messy. Even if you cry. Even if all you do is sit with a song that once moved you and wait for it to move you again. You do something small that reminds your body you’re still inside.
- Go for a walk.
- Take a calming bath you haven't taken in ages.
- Offer a hug that lasts 4 seconds longer than usual.
- Send a voice message to someone you trust.
- And maybe a journal entry that says, “I’m trying.”
This is how you come back.
Not with a breakthrough. But with a return.
You Don’t Need to Feel Everything.
Just Something.
Coming back to yourself doesn’t mean you have to cry on command or explain it all to anyone. It just means you start letting life touch you again—even in tiny ways.
You notice the wind.
You let someone hold the door for you.
You breathe with your hand on your heart and whisper, “I’m still here.” And that’s enough.
Because you were never meant to carry this alone. And the version of you that feels nothing? That’s not your true self. That’s your soul asking for a softer way. So today, don’t chase “strong.”
Chase real. Chase warm.
Chase something that reminds you:
“This is me. Still alive in here. Still becoming.”
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