The High Cost of Being Capable

Capability is a word women are praised for.
“She’s so capable.”
“She can handle anything.”
“She always gets it done.”

On the surface, it sounds like a compliment. But beneath it, many of us know the truth: capability can become a cage.

For women, being capable is rarely just about our own lives. It often means holding everything together for everyone else. Managing work deadlines while tracking the family calendar. Carrying the invisible labour of anticipating needs before they’re spoken. Showing up for friends, children, partners, parents: all while trying to keep pace with our own ambitions.

It’s no wonder that exhaustion doesn’t arrive with a crash. It creeps in quietly. The constant alertness. The skipped recovery. The edge that feels less like resilience and more like survival.

When Capability Becomes Overfunctioning

Psychologists call it overfunctioning: the tendency to take on more responsibility than is sustainable, often to avoid letting others down. It’s especially common in high-achieving women. We’re rewarded for it at work, admired for it in our communities, relied upon for it at home.

But the cost is steep. Overfunctioning erodes boundaries. It leaves little room for rest, play, or asking for help. And it teaches those around us that our capacity is endless, until it suddenly isn’t.

The Invisible Labour of “Holding It Together”

Sociologists use another term here: invisible labour. All the mental, emotional, and logistical tasks that never make a to-do list but take up bandwidth. Packing the snacks. Remembering the birthdays. Anticipating the meltdowns. Adjusting our schedule around everyone else’s.

Invisible labour isn’t celebrated. It’s assumed. And for capable women, it becomes second nature to carry it without recognition.

The Tipping Point

Capability has limits, but we often don’t acknowledge them until something breaks. Injury. Illness. Burnout. The quiet erosion of joy.

And here’s the paradox: the very skills that make us capable: discipline, endurance, reliability - also make us resistant to stopping. We tell ourselves to just hold on a little longer, push a little harder, until our bodies or our relationships force a reckoning.

A Different Kind of Strength

What if capability wasn’t measured by how much we can hold, but by how clearly we can choose what not to hold?

What if strength was the ability to pause, to ask for help, to soften before breaking?

At Her Trails, we see this on the trail all the time. The runner who finally learns that walking the climb isn’t failure, but strategy. The woman who stops carrying every piece of mandatory kit herself and learns to share the load with her crew. The moment someone realises that being part of a community doesn’t mean proving you can do it alone: it means letting yourself be supported.

Reflection Prompt

• Where in my life am I wearing “capability” as armour?
• What would it look like to take some of it off: and trust that I’m still enough?