The Friend Who Never Asks for Help

At 8 a.m., I received a call from a friend I made here in the Netherlands. Her voice was calm, slow, and controlled, the kind of tone people adopt when they’re trying to keep it together. She’s truly Dutch: private and reserved, only opening up when things are genuinely tough.

I tried to lighten the mood by making her laugh. I joked that my dog had been farting so much that it had become my new signature scent. She chuckled, but I could still feel the weight behind her laughter.

Then, she said something that struck a chord with me:

She continued, her voice quivering with emotion, “I have so many people around me, but I feel empty and lonely. It’s as if I’m surrounded by shadows; they’re there, yet I can’t reach them. My mother calls me only to unload her burdens, pouring out her worries and fears, but when I try to share mine, it’s like I’m speaking a different language. She never listens to my heart.

For her, my life is perfect, a flawless picture in her mind. But if I dare to complain about my marriage, she dismisses my feelings, insisting he’s too good for me to express dissatisfaction. It feels invalidating, as if my struggles don’t matter. I’m left feeling like I’m screaming into a void, desperate for someone to truly hear me, to see my pain. I’m not being heard, and that loneliness wraps around me like a suffocating blanket.”

I paused.

I know that feeling.

I’ve lived inside that silence.

I changed my clothes, bought a small cake from the supermarket, and went to her house.

I knew that once she saw me, she would feel embarrassed for opening up. Many women feel that the mix of relief and fear after finally saying something out loud. So I told her the truth:

“You are beautiful.

You are smart.

I wish I could be a mother like you. And honestly? Your husband is ugly compared to you.”

(Yes, I said it, not because he’s bad, but because so many women feel below their husbands after having kids. Sometimes we need to hear we’re still more than enough.)

I reminded her of everything she has conquered.

I shared a small secret of my own, so she wouldn’t feel alone in her vulnerability.

We hugged.

We drank coffee.

And before I left, I told her: “You know, it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. Motherhood can feel like a solitary journey, even when surrounded by people who care. Sometimes, the hardest battles are the ones we fight within ourselves. We love fiercely but forget to love ourselves just as deeply.”

She nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I thought I was supposed to have it all figured out by now. I didn’t expect to feel lost,” she confessed.

You are more than enough

I leaned in closer, my voice gentle. “Growth isn’t linear. It’s messy, and that mess often leads to the most beautiful transformations. You’re doing better than you think. Every small act of love you give to your children is a testament to your strength.”

She smiled, a flicker of hope breaking through her uncertainty. “It’s just hard to see that sometimes, you know? Especially when I compare myself to others.”

I shook my head softly. “Comparison can be a thief of joy. You are unique, with your own path and struggles. Instead of looking at what others are doing, focus on your journey. Celebrate your achievements, no matter how small.”

She took a deep breath, visibly relaxing. “I guess I needed to hear that. It’s easy to forget who I am outside of being a mom.”

“Exactly,” I replied. “You are so much more. Remember, your worth isn’t defined by how you compare to others or how well you juggle your roles. You are enough just as you are.”

As we finished our coffee, I saw a shift in her demeanor. She seemed lighter, as if a weight had been lifted, if only a little. “Thank you for coming and for listening. I really needed this today.”

“Anytime,” I said, smiling. “And remember, I’m just a call away. We’re in this together, and you’re never alone. Unless it’s a drink night, then I might be a little busy! But seriously, I’ve got your back!”

We shared another hug before I left, her heart a bit fuller, the silence between us now filled with understanding and empathy. It’s amazing what a moment of honesty can do to uplift our spirits.

Have you checked on your strong friend today?

Have you ever felt like her?
I have.

There were days I wished someone would show up at my door with a hug and a warm drink.
But life gets busy, work, kids, house, responsibilities, and friendships become something we schedule instead of something we live.

Real friendship isn’t drinks or parties.
It’s presence.
It’s showing up when someone’s voice sounds different.
It’s hearing the things they’re afraid to say.

I published my essay on What has transformed? And what exists now that could not have existed before this loss created space for it?

Read it here:

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