It started with the dishes. Not a dramatic fight, not a tragic loss—just a sink full of dishes. Shannon had cooked dinner, bathed the kids, sorted tomorrow’s lunchboxes, and folded laundry while taking a work call with her earbuds in. At 9:43 p.m., she walked into the kitchen and found the plates still stacked where she left them. Her husband, Deji, was on the couch watching YouTube videos, feet up, laughing softly into the quiet of the night.
“Babe, you didn’t touch the plates?” she asked, even though she knew the answer already.
“I thought you had it covered,” he said with a smile, half-joking, half-serious.
Something in her cracked. It wasn’t about the dishes—not really. It was the exhaustion of constantly being on: the planner, the nurturer, the fixer, the one with the emotional radar always on high alert. She was the strong one, the dependable one, the woman who held everything up. But what happens when the strong one is tired?
The Myth of the Strong One
In many marriages, especially in African or deeply traditional contexts, one partner often becomes the “default adult.” This person anticipates needs, smooths over rough patches, and keeps the household running—often invisibly. They remember birthdays, buy the gifts, monitor everyone’s moods, and maintain social connections. They often perform tasks not because they want to, but because if they don’t, no one else will. More often than not, these tasks fall to the woman. She becomes the CEO of the home and the emotional anchor, doing work that is rarely acknowledged.
Being the strong one is seen as admirable, even virtuous. You are praised for being reliable, for never falling apart. But the truth is that strength, in this context, becomes a trap. It doesn’t allow for softness. It doesn’t leave room for vulnerability. It assumes endless capacity, which is often unrealistic. And when the strong one finally speaks up, they’re met with confusion or defensiveness: “Why didn’t you just ask for help?”
But that question ignores the core problem—it assumes equal capacity and availability. It overlooks the fact that asking for help repeatedly feels like micromanaging, or worse, begging.
Making Room for Mutuality
Strength should not mean silence. And love should not mean invisibility.
In a healthy marriage, strength is shared. It rotates. A strong partner needs, and deserves, support too.
It’s time we stop glorifying the silent suffering of the strong one. Instead, let’s encourage partnerships where both people show up—emotionally, practically, and consistently.
A Quiet Revolt
Shannon didn’t scream that night. She didn’t break down. But she did something quietly radical—she sat down and did nothing. The dishes stayed until morning. And when Deji asked, “What’s for breakfast?” she said, “I don’t know. What are you making?”
It wasn’t anger. It was honesty. It was the beginning of recalibration. It was her saying: I cannot carry this alone. And I shouldn’t have to.
Tobi Yusuf, founder of RIAH Events & Weddings, Relationship Mentor, convener of Love Connect – a community empowering couples and singles to build meaningful connections.