The Cost of Holding It All Together

For most of my life, I thought my ability to hold it all together was my greatest strength.

West Point demanded it. The Army reinforced it. The NFL rewarded it.

Stay strong. Push through. Don’t show weakness.

It worked—until it didn’t.

I remember sitting in a team meeting after a rough practice, my body exhausted, my mind unraveling. My coach was talking, but I wasn’t really hearing anything.

All I could think was, I can’t keep this up. But I had no idea how to not keep it up.

Because if I wasn’t the guy who always powered through, who was I?

The thought of letting go—even just a little—felt more terrifying than the exhaustion itself.

I see this now for what it was: fear in disguise.

I wasn’t afraid of the work. I was afraid of what would happen if I stopped gripping so tightly.

I was afraid of what people would see if I wasn’t performing at 110%. I was afraid of losing whatever illusion of control I had.

So I kept going. Until eventually, my body—and my life—gave out before I did.

And I wonder how many of us are carrying that same weight.

How many of us are white-knuckling our way through life, convinced that holding it all together is the only way to be strong?

• Maybe you’re leading a team, managing impossible expectations, and every day feels like a game of high-stakes Jenga—one wrong move, and it all comes crashing down.

• Maybe you’re holding space for everyone else in your life—your family, your employees, your friends—while quietly wondering, But who’s holding me?

• Maybe you’re so used to proving your worth through performance that the idea of slowing down—even for a moment—feels like failure.

I get it.

But here’s what I’ve learned the hard way: true strength isn’t about holding it all together. It’s about knowing when to let go.

Not in a way that means giving up—but in a way that makes space for something deeper, truer, and more alive.

It took me years to understand that surrender isn’t weakness. Rest isn’t laziness. Vulnerability isn’t failure.

It’s courage to admit you can’t do it all alone. It’s wisdom to recognize that control is an illusion. It’s capacity to create space for yourself—not just for others.

And here’s the paradox: The moment I stopped gripping so tightly, I didn’t fall apart.

I ​rediscovered the aliveness​ that had been buried under the weight of life.

So if you’re exhausted from holding it all together, I’ll leave you with this:

What if real strength isn’t about bracing for impact, but learning to exhale?

What if everything you’re fighting so hard to keep from breaking… is actually what needs to break open?

Because on the other side of letting go? That’s where you find the life you’ve been holding your breath for.

As always, I'm rooting for you. We're in this together.

-Caleb