I'm often called "strong". I solve problems, carry heavy packages myself, go to the service station myself, organize my life myself. From the outside, an example of independence. But few people know how many nights I spent thinking: "Why doesn't anyone just want to take care of me?"

Strength is not armor. It is often a consequence of having no other choice. I learned to be everything to myself: support, friend, motivator. But sometimes I really want someone to just say: "Rest. I'm here."

And I'm learning to ask. I'm learning not to be ashamed of the fact that I can also be vulnerable. That I want hugs, even though sometimes I seem unapproachable. That I don't always have to be "okay."

It's a long road - from "I don't need anyone" to "I'm ready to be with someone who will support me, and not test me for strength." But I'm walking this path. And I believe that true strength is not in carrying everything on my own, but in being alive. Without a mask.