“I can no longer be the strong one in rooms where others refuse to use their own power.
This isn’t reinvention. It’s clarity.”
For the first time in my life, I find myself with all of my emotional wounds wide open.
For forty-four years, I have tried to understand why my introverted self still needed the charge of community. At times, I believed that longing came from a lack of acceptance. At other moments, I buried myself in productivity—believing usefulness might substitute for belonging.
Now I know better.
The deepest need I have carried is not recognition, affirmation, or achievement. It is community.
Achievement feels good. Being seen for giftedness is affirming. But what happens when you don’t have your tribe? What happens when the community that once anchored you begins to disappear?
Over the last seven years, one by one, the bedrocks of my development have faded—for many reasons. Each loss required just enough grieving to remain functional. I could not afford to mourn too long. Responsibility demanded movement. Ministry required output. People needed strength.
For a long time, I was better at being a machine than being human.
I did not know how to lean into my humanity.
After three long weeks marked by emergency room visits, relentless physical pain, internal turmoil, misplaced blame, and a fatigue unfamiliar to my spirit, I now understand something I can no longer ignore: community is not optional. It is necessary. And it is not accidental. It is intentional.
This coming year requires a reassessment of our circles.
I can no longer accept being the “strong one” in rooms where others defer rather than step into their own power. My capacity for friendship, kinship, and even surface connection can no longer sustain relationships unwilling to reciprocate the act of pouring.
This is not a “new year, new me” statement.
It is clarity.
It is the recognition that my life has requirements if it is to continue with integrity. I must reinvest in what actually matters. I cannot afford to run out of gas anymore. I have a purpose and a charge to keep.
This is the stop where stowaways must get off the train.
The journey ahead requires willing participants—people who see the God-sized picture over my life and who are brave enough to acknowledge the God-sized calling over their own.
If you find yourself in the same place, perhaps this is the moment to pause—not to abandon the journey, but to assess it. Are we carrying unnecessary weight, or are we finally prepared to go further?
This is where the strong finally rest—not because the work is finished, but because strength was never meant to be carried alone.
Dr. Charles W. Ferguson 