Noella Mbulapey

There is a woman people call when they need encouragement, direction, prayer, or a solution. She listens. She makes arrangements. She remembers the details and finds a way to keep things moving, even when her own life feels uncertain.

People describe her as strong, and she is. But how often does someone ask what it takes for her to keep showing up?

Who carries the woman who carries everyone?

That question is personal to me. I know what it feels like to carry responsibilities while wishing someone would notice that I need support too. I also know how difficult it can be to ask for help when you have spent much of your life figuring things out on your own. You can become so accustomed to managing that even saying “I am struggling” feels unfamiliar.

Over time, being dependable can become an expectation you place on yourself. You say yes before checking your capacity. You listen to someone else’s concerns while postponing your own. When someone asks how you are, you give the answer that allows the conversation to move forward.

Sometimes that answer is easier than explaining what you need. Sometimes you do not yet have words for it.

The difficulty is that people may see your competence and assume you have enough support. They see the work completed, the encouraging message, or the calm response. They may never see the effort behind it. Meanwhile, you may be waiting for someone to recognize a need you have learned to conceal.

This is one reason I believe conversations about leadership must leave room for the person behind the role. A woman can be capable and still need guidance. She can love her work and need time away from it. She can have a strong faith and still feel exhausted or disappointed.

My forthcoming book, I’m a Preacher, But I’m Human, explores this humanity behind the calling. Although its focus includes ministry, the question reaches into many parts of life. What happens when people become so familiar with what we provide that they forget we also need care?

I am learning that receiving support begins, in part, with allowing myself to be honest. That does not mean sharing every private struggle publicly. It means identifying trustworthy people with whom I can speak without feeling obligated to turn my difficulty into an encouraging lesson.

It also means making requests that someone can respond to. “I need help” can feel overwhelming to say and difficult for another person to interpret. A more specific request can open the door: “Could you take responsibility for this task?” “Do you have time to listen?” “Can we revisit this deadline?” These conversations give others a clearer opportunity to show up.

Boundaries matter here too. Before accepting another responsibility, we can pause long enough to consider what it will require. Do we have the time? What existing commitment would be affected? Are we agreeing because we want to contribute or because disappointing someone feels unbearable?

The answers may not always be comfortable, but they deserve our attention.

Those of us who lead teams, families, or communities also have a responsibility to notice how care and work are distributed. If the same woman always steps in, we can offer to take ownership of something before she has to ask. We can respect her no without demanding an explanation. We can check on her without attaching a request to the conversation.

For me, faith remains central to learning how to receive care. I believe I can bring my exhaustion and uncertainty to God honestly. I am also learning to welcome the support that can come through people, without treating my need for it as a personal failure.

I do not have this balance perfected. I am still learning to recognize my limits, express my needs, and make space for a life that includes joy and rest alongside responsibility.

Perhaps that is where many of us can begin: with one honest conversation, one specific request, or one commitment we acknowledge we cannot carry alone.

The next time you think of the woman who always seems to manage, ask how she is doing—and leave enough room for a real answer.

And if you are that woman, you deserve to answer honestly. You deserve care on the days when you have nothing to offer except your presence.