We all carry around a whole dictionary of comforting phrases: “Pull yourself together.”, “Think positive.”, “One day at a time.” and the classic: “This too shall pass.”
They’re easy to say. They roll off the tongue like an automated reply — friendly, harmless, a little distant.
Most of the time, they’re meant to build a bridge to someone else’s experience, or simply to lighten our own discomfort. But when we’re talking about anxiety, depression, or burnout, these words often miss the mark completely. For many of us, mental-health struggles are still a strange and hard-to-grasp territory.
Especially for those who see themselves as strong and highly functioning — the kind of people who handle their responsibilities even when they’re exhausted. Our society still clings to a story where a “good person” always endures, stretches, carries, and copes. So when someone — maybe the most reliable and helpful one of all — suddenly can’t anymore, that story cracks.
And when it cracks, something subtle often shifts in the minds of the “strong.” Their respect for the burned-out, anxious, or depressed person may quietly fade. Trust becomes fragile. A distance appears — not necessarily intended, but very real. Someone who once seemed “strong” is now seen as different. Maybe weaker. Maybe broken.
This is the illusion of unbreakability: the belief that strength is permanent and that only the weak or defective burn out. In reality, mental-health problems often affect those who have been strong for others the longest — and forgotten themselves along the way. They don’t collapse because they’re weak. They collapse because all human strength has limits, whether we like it or not.
Pep-talk clichés rarely come from a bad place. Behind them there’s usually a genuine wish for the other person to feel better — and also our own helplessness. It’s easier to offer a quick fix than to sit with a situation that has no quick answers. But to someone already struggling to hold themselves together, those words can sound dismissive. As if we were saying: Come on now, toughen up and get over it.
Why is it so hard for us to face vulnerability — in others or in ourselves? Maybe it reminds us that life isn’t fully in our control. That any one of us could one day be the person who simply can’t go on. That’s a frightening thought.
So perhaps it’s time to rewrite our definition of strength. What if strength didn’t mean staying upright at any cost — but recognizing our limits? What if real courage sometimes sounds like: I can’t anymore. And real companionship sounds like: I hear you. It’s okay. I’m here.
Because the wounds of the mind aren’t visible, we don’t always notice them. That’s why we might need a little more curiosity, a little more listening, and fewer ready-made answers. And when “this too shall pass” is already forming on our lips, maybe we could pause and choose different words.
Maybe we could simply say: “I may not fully understand, but I’m here with you.”