There is a really strange kind of loneliness that comes with being “the strong one.”

You’re the person people call in a crisis. The one who stays calm. The one who carries the clipboard, handles the logistics, and somehow keeps moving forward even when the walls start shaking. For years, that role was just second nature to me. Working in emergency management teaches you exactly how to respond when everything around you is falling apart. You learn to coordinate resources, solve problems, and push through absolute exhaustion because people are counting on you. Somewhere along the way, strength stops being just something you do and starts becoming who you think you have to be.

As an emergency manager, I am used to being the one sending the help, not the one on the receiving end.

If I’m being completely honest, I carried that exact same mindset into my cancer journey. I kept it up even after the diagnosis. Even through the fear. Even in the moments where my body was clearly whispering what my pride refused to admit: you cannot carry this alone.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the incredible kindness of the nationwide EMAC t-shirt campaign. When it first started, I don’t think I fully understood the emotional impact it would have on me. But seeing the Director of Alaska EM and the entire team from Oregon wearing the shirts, showing their support from thousands of miles away… it has been an amazing, overwhelming reminder of the family out there who truly have my back. Something inside me just broke open in the best possible way. It wasn’t out of weakness. It was surrender. The truth is, I had spent so much energy trying to hold myself together that I forgot what it felt like to let other people hold me up for a while.

And man, that is so much harder than it sounds, especially when you are still trying to spin all the regular plates of life.

I know I haven’t written about it as much recently, but the medical reality is still very much ongoing. Every couple of weeks, it’s more doctor visits and waiting on the latest blood counts. At the same time, I’m navigating the beautiful chaos of my debut book being published. Writing has been a saving grace for me, an incredible outlet and a much-needed distraction from the cancer, but it brings its own hurdles. Now I’m staring down the challenge of actually getting it out into the world, trying to figure out the algorithms of Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok to get it seen.

Then there’s the everyday life stuff that doesn’t pause for a diagnosis. I’m trying to navigate the challenge of raising a teenager who is pushing for more freedom and who doesn’t quite understand our frustrations with the things he does. I’m spending hours fighting with insurance companies just to get them to accurately reflect our out-of-pocket expenses.

When you add all of that up, it’s exhausting. There’s a quiet lie the enemy loves to whisper to people who are used to carrying the weight: “If you stop being strong, everything will fall apart.” Maybe you’ve heard that lie, too. Maybe you’ve convinced yourself that resting is weakness, or that if people saw your fear and exhaustion, they’d look at you differently.
But God has been teaching me something so vital in this season: strength was never meant to mean isolation.

Even Elijah, after calling down fire from heaven, ended up exhausted under a tree, asking God if he could even keep going. Moses needed people to physically hold his arms up during battle when his own strength gave out. Scripture is full of people who loved God deeply but still hit a wall where they needed support, rest, and reassurance. Why do we think we’re supposed to be any different?

The reality is that faith doesn’t always erase fear instantly. Sometimes faith is just choosing to trust God while fear is still whispering in the background. It’s waking up and handing Him the future all over again, because the enemy keeps trying to get you to borrow trouble from tomorrow.

I know God has carried me. I know His grace has surrounded my family in ways I can’t even explain, and I’ve already witnessed miracles on this journey. And yet, there are still moments where the “what-ifs” creep in quietly. What will treatment look like long-term? What if things get harder? What if I can’t keep all these pieces of life balanced anymore?

That tension between faith and fear is exactly where the enemy tries to plant seeds of doubt. It’s rarely a loud attack; it’s usually a subtle whisper meant to slowly erode your trust. “What if God doesn’t come through next time? What if this is the thing that breaks you?”

As an EM, I know that when a disaster strikes, you look for the logistics and the logistics are your lifeline. But in this season, every single time those lies start to rise, God answers them with evidence of His goodness. Sometimes it’s through an overwhelming sense of peace, sometimes through Scripture, and sometimes through unexpected strength.

And honestly? Sometimes it’s just through some incredible and amazing people.

People who refuse to let you fight alone. People who show up when you don’t even have the energy to explain what you need. People who remind you that grace often arrives wearing work boots, hospital bracelets, prayer chains, t-shirts, and open arms.

That kind of support has humbled me more than I can put into words. Not because it made me feel weak, but because it reminded me of how the body of Christ is actually supposed to work. We are meant to carry each other. We’re supposed to stand in the gap and strengthen each other when someone’s knees start to buckle under the weight of the battle. I think so many of us are completely exhausted because we’re trying to survive storms God never intended us to weather alone.

So if you’re reading this today and you are tired—truly, deeply tired—let this be your reminder: you do not have to be the strong one every single second of the day.

You are allowed to lean on people. You are allowed to ask for prayer. You are allowed to admit that the future scares you sometimes, and you are absolutely allowed to rest without apologizing for it. There is zero shame in needing support. Sometimes the strongest thing we can do is finally just let ourselves be loved.

Maybe that’s one of the greatest pictures of God’s grace is not just that He carries us Himself, but that He sends people to help bear the weight when our own strength runs low. I am still learning how to receive that kind of grace. But I am so incredibly grateful for every single person God has placed on this journey to remind me that I was never, ever fighting alone.