There’s a certain kind of smile that women—especially mothers, therapists, and caretakers—learn to master. It’s the smile that says, “I’m fine,” even when your heart feels like it’s cracking beneath the surface. It’s the smile you give to your children when you’ve only had two hours of sleep. The smile you wear on a video call with clients even though your own life feels like it’s slowly unraveling in the background. The smile that says, “I’ve got this,” when, truthfully, you’re not sure how much longer you can carry it all.
I know that smile well. I wear it often.
As a therapist, I’ve sat across from countless women who feel the same. Women who are brilliant, giving, resilient—and deeply tired. Women who hold so much pain in their bodies that it comes out in migraines, stomach aches, clenched jaws, and sleepless nights. Women who don’t want to fall apart because if they do, who’s going to hold the pieces?
The Cost of Being the Strong One
There’s an unspoken expectation for some of us to be “the strong one” in every room. We didn’t sign up for it, but somewhere along the way, we were handed that role. Maybe it was when we became the eldest daughter. Or when others relied on us to keep things together. Or maybe when we became therapists and felt the need to be regulated, wise, and grounded—even when our own personal lives were in chaos.
What happens when the strong one is breaking inside?
No one thinks to check on her. No one assumes she needs help. And so she smiles—because to let the pain show would invite questions she doesn’t have the energy to answer. She keeps moving, keeps giving, keeps covering for others, often forgetting that she, too, deserves to be held.
I used to think smiling through the pain was a form of strength. Now I know it’s also a survival strategy—and sometimes, a cry for help in disguise.
Pain Behind the Smile
There are different kinds of pain we carry behind that smile.
There’s the pain of being emotionally unseen in a marriage. Of trying, asking, waiting—for connection that never seems to arrive. Of doing the inner work, attending the sessions, praying the prayers—and still feeling alone in the relationship.
There’s the pain of being a mother, where every decision feels high-stakes. Where your love is fierce but your limits are tested daily. Where you’re trying to protect your children from everything—sometimes including their other parent—and it breaks your heart that you even have to think that way.
There’s the pain of owning a business while trying to keep a household, manage bills, answer emails, supervise staff, and show up on social media—while wondering if anyone truly sees how hard you’re trying.
There’s the spiritual pain. When you’re seeking God for direction, for peace, for a sign. When you’re not sure if you should stay or go, speak up or stay silent, forgive again or finally let go.
And there’s the bodily pain. The fatigue that lives in your bones. The tight chest. The jaw that never unclenches. The digestion that shuts down under stress. The nights you wake up five times with your kids and still show up for clients in the morning.
These are the kinds of things that don’t make it into Instagram captions. But they are real.
Why We Smile Anyway
We smile because it’s easier than explaining the complexity of what we feel. Because we don’t want to be judged. Because we fear the shame of being “the therapist who doesn’t have it all together.” Because we’re scared if we stop smiling, the floodgates will open—and we won’t know how to close them again.
We smile because we love our children, our work, our people—and we want to protect them from our own pain.
But let’s be clear: Smiling through the pain is not weakness. Sometimes, it’s the bravest thing we can do in the moment. It’s a way of saying, “I won’t let this destroy me.” But it cannot be the only thing we do.
Making Space for What’s Underneath
If you're reading this and you’ve been smiling through pain, I want to offer you something that no one may have given you yet: permission to feel it.
Permission to grieve. To rage. To sob. To say “this is too much.” To admit that you want someone to check in on you for once.
Smiling has its place—but so does sadness, fear, longing, and anger. All of these emotions are human, and pretending we don’t feel them doesn’t make us stronger—it just makes us lonelier.
Here’s what I’ve learned, both in my personal life and as a therapist:
Let it out, somewhere. You don’t have to fall apart publicly, but you need a space where you don’t have to filter yourself. A trusted friend, a therapist, a journal, a prayer. Somewhere you can say, “I’m tired, and I don’t want to fake it today.”
Pay attention to your body. It’s often the first place your pain shows up. If you haven’t gone to the bathroom in days, if you’re waking up five times a night, if your jaw is always clenched—that’s not “normal motherhood.” That’s a sign you need care, too.
Don’t spiritualize silence. God is not asking you to stay in emotionally abusive or neglectful environments just to be “faithful.” God sees your pain. He doesn’t want you smiling to survive; He wants you whole.
Release the guilt. You’re not a bad person for wanting out. You’re not a bad mom for needing space. You’re not a bad Christian for struggling. You’re human.
Allow others to show up for you. I know it’s scary. But you don’t always have to be the one holding space. Let someone else hold space for you. Let your smile be real—not a mask.
What I Hope You Remember…
You can be a good mom and still want more.
You can be a skilled therapist and still struggle.
You can love God deeply and still have days you’re not okay.
Smiling through pain is not failure—it’s a survival skill. But healing through pain—that’s where freedom lives. That’s where peace starts to replace pressure. That’s where your smile can return, not as a mask, but as a reflection of true inner light.
So today, if all you can do is smile through the pain—know that I see you. I am you. And I promise: you won’t feel this way forever.