The Need to be Strong – for whom?

There were these repeated episodes that were bringing me to my story of strength. And as it usually happens, the episodes were getting to be increasingly intense – and that can be quite frightening, I must admit.

So here’s where my eyes were finally opened to what was happening. As I’m typing this here, I get a faint memory of actually feeling good and liberated about this whole description of being ‘strong’ some years ago. I think it was quite liberating to know that you can do some unpredictably impossible things – more liberating and pride-worthy when you actually do them. And in the process, take responsibility to do more and more… but I’m starting to think BE lesser and lesser still.

And because of this mismatch in the doing and the being, I wasn’t able to quite relate to what the big deal was when people would tell me, “Luvena, you’re an inspiration! You are such a strong person! I have no idea how you do it! I wouldn’t be able to do any of that! How do you manage??”

My answer would almost always be, “I have no idea how I do it, but it just happens.”

Fast track to earlier this year when I broke my leg. Nasty, nasty break. Even I was surprised at my resilience and capacity to endure the pain. I didn’t cry once and I truly believe that I had my best ever recovery period. But it was during that recovery period that I looked deeper into what I had just experienced and took my first step to acknowledging what almost everyone I had met had told me. It was my own acknowledgement of my strength and resilience – my perseverance, endurance and optimism that allowed me to keep the faith.

And I thought my journey was done in that aspect and that moving onwards would be a light-hearted exploration of life and it’s many wondrous opportunities.

Wrong again.

It just got tougher.

Like mounting labour pains, the contractions were agonising. Unlike mounting labour pains, I didn’t know if there was a baby to birth after all!

After 3 children, birthing was not the issue, hahaaa, but the ripping apart, the pain, that feeling of exhaustion from frantic kicking to surface when someone is trying to drag you down, drown you, smother your voice, snuff your life out… that is so exhausting that I had to actually take a deep breath to calm myself during the last few words.

And all this felt in vain because, simply put, I just wanted to make some sense out of the madness. This whole inconsequential labour was maddening. Until one conversation, just one unbiased, neutral conversation happened…

Until I blurted, with much feeling, “I know I’m strong. By now, I know it really well.. I am.. and I acknowledge it… But, enough already! How much more do I have to endure and to prove to whom??”

Just like that, a statement was placed in front of me.

“You know, sometimes being strong is not about the physical strength, or the resilience. Sometimes it may just be our individual definition of strength.”

A pause followed.

A long pause…

But the silence was deafening because something in my mind started shifting and rearranging itself – like little lego blocks arranging themselves in some automatic pattern – a pattern that I couldn’t recognize as the blocks were placing themselves… but in the chaos, and through that mayhem, I started to feel a sense of clarity.

I wasn’t being tested by anyone for my strength. The only one testing me and pushing me further was myself! Because my definition of strength was the ability to tolerate (all sorts of crap!) and if I ever said, “Enough!” then it would be a blow to my own preconceived and ill-fitting definition – and would probably lead me to label myself as a weak loser who couldn’t take this… and allow the abuser to win, perhaps?

OMG! That’s quite a string of beliefs to just hold on to when you think of the consequences of holding them on. The consequences of constantly fighting a battle that I chose to set up for myself. No, this is not denying or condoning the abuse – that happened, it really did. But the breakthrough also happened!

The breakthrough of recognizing that my ‘why‘ for perpetuating the madness and the excuses to justify staying in hell had little to do with hell itself, but for reclaiming my power to say, “Enough!” and to know that there is absolutely, absofuckinglutely nothing wrong in recognizing abuse, calling it out and standing in my full power, my strength because there is no one to prove anything to.