In many African families, strength is not simply admired; it is expected. From a young age, we are taught, sometimes directly and sometimes through observation, that resilience is a virtue: to endure hardship without complaint, to carry responsibility without hesitation, to rise regardless of circumstance.
Strength, in this context, becomes more than a trait. It becomes an identity. And for many, especially those living with chronic conditions such as Sickle Cell Disease, that identity can come at a cost.
In African communities, family is central. It is a source of belonging, protection, and shared responsibility. But within that structure, roles often emerge, spoken or unspoken.
There is often someone who is seen as “the strong one”, the one who holds things together, absorbs pressure, and shows up no matter what.
This strength is rarely questioned. It is relied upon, but it is also rarely examined. What does it mean to always be the one others depend on? What happens when the strong one is the one who needs support?
Over time, resilience can become deeply embedded in how a person sees themselves. You learn not to complain. You learn to minimise your pain.
You learn to keep going, even when your body or mind is asking you to stop. For those living with SCD, this is particularly complex. You are managing a condition that brings physical pain, fatigue, and unpredictability.
And yet, you may still feel the need to maintain an image of strength, not only for yourself, but for your family. You do not want to worry them. You do not want to appear weak. You do not want to disrupt the role you have come to occupy. And so, you continue.
But strength, when it is constant and unrelieved, carries an emotional weight. It is the weight of unspoken exhaustion, suppressed vulnerability, and the pressure to always “be okay.”
There are moments when the strong one feels tired, deeply tired. Not just physically, but emotionally. Tired of holding everything together. Tired of being the one others lean on. Tired of not having the space to fall apart. Yet, even in that tiredness, the expectation remains: be strong.
There comes a point, sometimes quietly, sometimes suddenly, when the strong one can no longer carry the same weight in the same way. This is not failure. It is human.
For someone living with SCD, that moment may come during a health crisis, after repeated hospitalisations, or simply through the cumulative effect of living with a chronic condition. The body demands rest.
The mind seeks relief. The spirit longs for support.
But admitting this can feel difficult because when strength has become your identity, stepping away from it can feel like losing a part of yourself.
Perhaps the problem is not strength itself, but how we define it. Strength does not have to mean silence. It does not have to mean self-neglect. It does not have to mean carrying everything alone.
True strength can also look like asking for help, setting boundaries, acknowledging limits, and choosing rest. These are not signs of weakness; they are acts of self-preservation.
Families and communities also have a role to play in reshaping this narrative. Support should not be reserved only for those who visibly struggle. It should extend to those who appear strong but may be carrying unseen burdens.
This requires attentiveness, openness, and a willingness to listen without judgment. It also requires a shift in perspective, from expecting strength to offering support.
As someone living with SCD, I understand what it means to be perceived as strong. I have learned to manage pain quietly, to navigate challenges without always expressing their full weight, and to continue even when rest was needed. But I have also come to recognise that strength, when unbalanced, can become isolating.
There is a difference between being strong and being supported, and over time, I have learned the importance of allowing space for both.
Being the strong one in the family is not something to be dismissed. It reflects resilience, responsibility, and care. But it should not come at the expense of well-being. Strength should not mean suffering in silence.
It should not mean carrying more than one can bear. It should not mean being alone in moments of need.
If there is one shift we must make, both individually and collectively, it is this: to move from expecting strength to supporting the person behind it.
Because even the strongest among us need rest. Even the most resilient need care. And even the one who holds everything together deserves, at times, to be held.
If you would like to get in touch with me about Sickle Cell, do so via my email address: [email protected]. You can also check out my blog: https://www.dailylivingwithsicklecell.com/. My book on Sickle Cell—How to Live with Sickle Cell, and my other books are available for purchase on www.amazon.com.
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