There’s this moment after trauma, when everything is still raw, and all you want—desperately, achingly—is a hug. Just the simple act of being held by someone who cares. But here’s the thing about that hug: accepting it means letting your guard down. It means admitting to yourself and to the world that what happened was real. That you’re not okay.
As an explorer, a climber, a first responder—hell, as someone who’s built their identity around being strong, capable, and reliable—this feels impossible. I’ve spent my life in places where strength is not optional. On the edge of a summit where the air is thin and your body screams to stop. In the chaos of a rescue scene where every second counts. In the aftermath of tragedy when people look to you for answers, for calm, for leadership.
You’re supposed to be the one who holds it together. The one who others lean on. That’s the unspoken rule, isn’t it? When you’re in the thick of it, you don’t get the luxury of breaking. You push the feelings aside, lock them up in some deep part of yourself, and keep going because the job demands it.
But then the adrenaline fades, and the stillness sets in. That’s when the walls you’ve built start to crack. You feel the weight of it all pressing down on your chest, and you realize you’re not as invincible as you’ve tried to be. You’re not as unaffected as you hoped.
You crave connection, someone to hold you in a way that says, “It’s okay to feel this. It’s okay to not be okay.” But the idea of accepting that hug, of stepping into that vulnerability, feels like a betrayal of everything you’re supposed to be. If you let yourself fall apart, even for a moment, doesn’t that mean you’ve failed?
That’s the lie we tell ourselves: that needing help makes us weak. That accepting comfort is the same as admitting defeat. But the truth is, being strong isn’t about always having it together. Sometimes, strength is letting yourself feel the pain instead of running from it. It’s accepting that you’re human, even when you wish you weren’t.
I’ve stood on mountaintops, staring into endless skies, and I’ve felt the exhilaration of conquering something bigger than myself. But no mountain has ever humbled me as much as the moments when I’ve had to admit that I needed help.
That hug—letting someone in—it doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t erase your strength or your resilience. It doesn’t undo all the times you’ve been the one helping others. What it does is remind you that you’re not alone. That you don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your own shoulders.
So here’s the truth I’m still learning: It’s okay to want the hug. It’s okay to need it. And it’s okay to let yourself feel whatever it is you’re feeling. Because being strong doesn’t mean you don’t feel broken—it means you keep going, even when you do.
Photo by Blake Connally
