By Mia Maysack, PNN Columnist

While I am “the strong one” that so many look up to and confide in about their hardships and struggles, there aren't many people that I can reach out to in hopes of receiving the same sort of consideration, counsel or support.

I once expressed to a certified professional that one of the main reasons I'm still in existence is for the sake of other people. They looked at me – perplexed -- and proceeded to explain how that was an “unhealthy” approach to life. My reaction was to smirk, because there was obviously no way in hell this individual could begin relating to, let alone understand, what I was saying.

The vast majority of my experiences with therapy have been that the provider and I may as well have been speaking different languages.

Repeatedly, I'm confronted by individuals who say things such as:

“It's my kids who keep me going!”

“I do it all for them! They are my reason for living! I didn't know love or the point of life until I had children!”

I honor all of that to the best of my ability, but also wonder. What’s the difference between that mindset and the point that I made with the therapist?  There isn't one -- other than the fact my motivation doesn't come from having children, but rather from the brokenness of our world as a whole.

What do I mean when I say I live for the sake of others?  It's that I'm equipped with such a deep sense of compassionate empathy that I am able to hold the edges for people who ordinarily do not feel heard or seen. This somehow cultivates the illusion that I'm superhuman, and don’t need to be seen or heard myself.

Just because some of us don't outwardly complain or vent doesn't mean we have it all together, that everything is easy, or that we ourselves aren't drowning in a sea of despair.

Most people wouldn't know how to handle it, if I shared with them the reality of what my life is truly like. They wouldn't know how to respond if I told them that just getting out of bed for me is like running a marathon. Or if I described the pain and torment in my physical body, which keeps me away from things that I want to do and bring me a sense of meaning, joy and purpose.

They certainly don't know how to handle it when the person they depend on reveals that they're beginning to crumble under the weight life has forced them to carry. Anytime that I've attempted to confide in someone, there are three things that occur:

1. They aren't listening to actually hear you, but are simply awaiting their turn to speak -- which usually involves some sort of comparison between your situations, with a hinted suggestion that their situation is far worse than yours.

2. You make them uncomfortable by expressing yourself authentically. They don't know what to do or say, which often translates into doing or saying not much of anything.

3. It causes them major concern and worry, to the point that I then have to reassure the people I sought comfort from that I’m okay.

It has become easier to remain silent. That is why we suffer. That is what’s killing us.

I have zero questions in my mind as to why someone makes the decision to die. That doesn’t mean condoning or promoting it. I simply comprehend the endless reasons why life can be so tiring and how a lifetime of exhaustion can get old -- to the point where someone no longer wishes to go onward.

I believe in everyone's ability to choose and proceed with what's best or right for them, whether I agree or understand it. I've lost countless loved ones and that has been sufficient reason for me not to check out. I can't do it because so-and-so did. I want to carry on so they continue to live through me.

Although I still feel that way most of the time, it needs to be understood how draining it is. Those of us who've managed to cling to an optimistic viewpoint aren't free from our own demons. We slay them daily for the sake of showing up for you and yours.

Mia Maysack lives with chronic migraine, cluster headache and fibromyalgia. She is the founder of Keepin’ Our Heads Up, a Facebook advocacy and support group, and Peace & Love, a wellness and life coaching practice for the chronically ill.