I can hear the way you say it.
Soft.
Steady.
Convincing.
“I’m fine.”
And often, you are.
You get through the day. You manage all your responsibilities. You think things through. You calm yourself down before things spill over. You don’t like drama. You don’t like being dependent. You really don’t like the feeling of having to rely on someone else.
So you take care of yourself.
You process things quietly and have your own inner conversations. You make sense of your feelings before anyone else ever sees them. By the time you speak, they’re already smoothed out. Contained. Manageable.
People describe you as capable – and you are.
But I know what it’s like to always be the one who holds herself together.
When something hurts, you instinctively turn inward rather than out. When you feel overwhelmed, you soothe yourself before anyone has the chance to notice. When you’re tired (not just physically, but emotionally) you tell yourself it’s “not that bad”.
I just want to clarify that there’s nothing wrong with being self-reliant. Often, it grows in environments where you had to be. Environments where perhaps there wasn’t always space for your feelings, or where the people around you were doing their best but didn’t quite know how to meet you. Where maybe you learned that being low-maintenance felt safer than expressing your needs.
So you adapted. You became thoughtful. Measured. Independent.
And your independence is something that deserves respect – it’s done a great job. It’s kept you safe, and steady.
But sometimes, being independent feels too much – and a little lonely. Maybe sometimes you’d like to be asked twice, or to be noticed without explaining. Maybe you’d like to let your shoulders drop and not be the strong one for a while.
And I don;t mean because you can’t cope (of course you can) – but because you don’t always want to cope alone.
Letting someone see you in a tender moment can feel unfamiliar or uncomfortable – and definitely vulnerable. You might feel the urge to minimise or to change the subject, or to reassure them that you’re “okay, really” – and that makes perfect sense when you’ve spent so long being the one who manages.
In therapy, we don’t take that away from you. We simply make space.
Space for the moments that didn’t get spoken. Space for the feelings you learned to hold privately. Space for you to experiment with not having to be so self-contained.
There’s no rush, and no demand to suddenly become different.
Just a gradual experience of being met, and of discovering that needing, in small ways, doesn’t make you a burden.
If you are the woman who says “I’m fine” and means it, but also sometimes wishes someone would look a little closer, there is nothing wrong with you. You adapted really well. But you deserve relationships, including the therapeutic one, where you don’t always have to do it alone.
If this feels familiar, you’re very welcome to reach out. I currently have around a one-month waiting list for new clients, but am here to begin the conversation.
At your pace.
