She's Tired Of Being Strong Novels & Stories

“You’ve already survived more than most could endure. You’re stronger than you realize.” The certainty in his tone should have soothed her. It should have reminded her that she was not powerless, that she had clawed her way back from horrors no one else could understand. But instead, the words cracked something fragile inside her chest. Her knees buckled, and she dropped to the ground, the cold earth biting through the fabric of her trousers. Her hands flew to her face, muffling a sob that broke free despite her attempts to smother it. “I’m tired of being strong, Joel,” she whispered into her palms. “I’m tired of running, of fighting, of being torn apart. I just want… peace. Even for one nig

Although she couldn’t clearly see the person above her, a certain someone came to mind, and against her will, she began to tear up again. “Theo, I’m tired. I’m so freaking tired, but yet… seeing their faces just makes me want to keep on pushing forward. Their whole existence irritates me Theodore.” She muttered and lowered her head, feeling her body grow heavier and vision begin to have black spots. She was at her limit. Any normal person would be, after all she was only human.

“You are Shayle. The woman who survived neglect, manipulation, lies, and still managed to care for others more than herself. No stolen name changes that.” I stared at him, anger and exhaustion mixing in my chest. “You always make it sound so clean. So simple.” “It is not clean,” he replied. “And it is not simple. But it is true.” I looked away. “I am so tired of being strong.” For the first time, his voice softened completely. “Then do not be strong right now.” I frowned. “What.” “Let yourself fall apart,” he continued. “You do not owe strength to anyone. Especially not today.”

“You are strong, Celia.” “No, I am not. Look at me.” “In order to be strong Celia, one must go through something like this. People who are doing their daily chores can’t be called as strong, can they? Unless they are fighting something worse. We still are fighting. All I want is you.”

on a foundation of scar tissue. I'm tired, she realized. It wasn't a physical tiredness. It was a soul-deep fatigue. She was tired of being the "Phoenix." She was tired of rising. She was tired of being strong. She wanted to be weak. She wanted to mourn. She realized then that she hadn't grieved. Not really. She had raged. She had run. She had built. She had fought. But she hadn't cried for the girl she used to be. The girl in the white dress who believed in fairy tales. That girl had died in a hotel room, and Aurora had simply stepped over her body and kept walking.

She hates this feeling of being hopeless and being in great shame of where she is now. She hates showing weakness, she hates how she has to constantly ask others for help even though she is supposed to deal with things herself. She hates it so much, the eyes that are sorry for her. She hates being looked down at like that, she wants to show how strong she is. She wants to show how she can buckle and bend but never will she ever break down. She has to remain strong, no signs of weakness to be seen.

And it pains me so much that I can't do anything to wipe her misery away . I've never seen her this broken since I met her,she's always being strong and tough even when she's weak . She's always pulling herself together even when she knows she has lost everything ,she's always trying to be strong,but now I can't see that strong girl anymore,I can't see that tough girl pulling her shits together, all I'm seeing is a broken girl that has given up on life and it's making me weak . Honestly, she use to make me feel strong , whenever I see her knowing fully well all she has been through and she's still being the warrior she is, she makes me know that I too can be strong , it's like looking in a m

“In. Out. Come on, you’ve done harder things before. You’re the strongest girl I know.” “No,” I cried harder, shaking my head even though he couldn’t see. “I thought I was strong. But I’m not. I’m tired, Kyle. I can’t dance, I can’t fight him, I can’t even make a stupid bed—everything’s too much. Please. Please help me. Please save me.”

“But I’ve seen you collapse from pain. I’ve seen your body shake from overuse. This isn’t just about training.” “No, it’s not,” she dropped her arms. “It’s about Gunner. It’s about being tired. Tired of waiting for someone to harm me again .” I moved closer to her, reducing the distance between us. “Then say that,” I said. “Don’t pretend as if you’re doing this for yourself when you’re doing it out of spite.” “Maybe I am doing it out of spite. Maybe I’m angry. Maybe I don’t want to be the helpless girl people think I am!” She raised her voice, then sighed heavily.

“Anna, I… there are other ways to resolve things without a fight.” “Yes. You are right. But that only works when you have someone to defend you.” She pointed at herself, her voice cracking. “I have no one. I have to defend myself. And this is the only way I know how.” Anna laughed through her tears, her hands trembling as she clutched a piece of her cloth. “You know what? I’m really tired. I’m tired of always being the bad guy. Always having to go an extra mile to be treated with basic respect. Tired of Melisa and her scheming, tired of you and everything around you. I’m so fucking tired!”