I thought being strong meant hiding my struggles—but I learned a better way

From ScienceMag:

Moments before heading to teach a class, I received a call from my sister: My mother was going into emergency surgery and might not make it through the night. Five minutes later, I stepped in front of 68 MBA students to lecture without missing a beat, and even stayed a few minutes after to answer questions. I held strong until I got in the car to drive home. That’s when I fell to pieces. I fought to see the road through my tears as I spoke with my travel agent to book the next flight out. My mother pulled through the surgery. I didn’t miss any work, and none of my colleagues knew I spent the weekend with my mother in the intensive care unit. My career as an assistant professor continued as usual.

My response to my mother’s crisis was in line with my deep, enduring fear of showing vulnerability or admitting to feeling overwhelmed. As the youngest of 14 children from a Vietnamese refugee family, showcasing my strength seemed the best way to honor my parents’ and siblings’ sacrifices that have given me a better life in the United States. Through my higher education and well into my career as a professor, global speaker, and consultant, I avoided showing any cracks in my armor. I did not want colleagues to question my capabilities or friends and family to see me as anything less than unshakable. As waves of adversity crashed over me— multiple deaths in my family, career challenges, health scares, financial struggles, failed relationships—I maintained a facade of unwavering strength while inwardly crumbling under the weight of my own expectations and fears.

My confidants … helped me see there is no disgrace in seeking help.

• Lan Nguyen Chaplin
• Northwestern University

The truth was, I yearned to pause, to catch my breath, to simply say, “I’m struggling.” I craved to be vulnerable. I wanted to acknowledge my mistakes, to honor a range of emotions, and to ask for help. But I was so used to being strong and conquering anything that stood in my way that I didn’t know how. It didn’t help that, in the rare cases when I hinted at my struggles, I was often met with well-meaning reminders of my strength—“You’re so resilient,” “If anyone can overcome this, it’s you.” These words, though said with kind intentions, made it even harder to admit vulnerability.

But about 15 years after that incident with my mother, as I approached the midpoint of my career, I hit a breaking point. I had lost my 15-month-long bid for a promotion, faced a health scare, and experienced a profound change in my family life. I realized my perpetual exhaustion, sleepless nights, migraines, and inability to concentrate were glaring indicators that my relentless pursuit of strength had become counterproductive.

I still worried about what people would think of me if I confessed to being exhausted or, worse, that I needed their support. But I dug deep to find a new kind of strength: the power to acknowledge my limits and seek a new path forward.

Cautiously, I began to reveal slivers of my struggle to my personal and professional circles, watching closely for reactions. Some belittled my experience by saying things like “It could be worse” or “Everyone goes through tough times,” or thought the solution was to distract me from my worries to “cheer me up,” and I quietly stepped away from them. But a few met my disclosures with genuine empathy, and they became my confidants. I opened up fully to them that I was burned out after nearly 3 decades of pushing myself to be strong despite my hardships. To my great relief, they listened without judgment and respected my boundaries and coping process. They offered information about counseling services, legal help, support groups, and hotlines. They helped me see there is no disgrace in seeking help, that even professionals in leadership positions can need support. They also encouraged me to prioritize my mental well-being and physical health.

To anyone bearing the weight of constant strength, hear this: True strength isn’t about never faltering. It’s about having the courage to admit when we’re struggling, reaching out for support, and having the fortitude to piece ourselves back together and thrive.

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