‘Luvena, you’re so strong!’
‘You are one of the strongest people I’ve known!’
‘Your strength is so inspiring...’
I’ve heard variations of this over and over again over the past almost two decades (and counting). To be honest, I hate it.
I simply hate to hear it.
I mean, I appreciate that I have family and friends who have seen my journey and genuinely think it is a compliment to offer. But most days, I don’t really know how to take it. I accept it graciously as a compliment that dear ones offer, but I don’t know how to sit with it.
This morning, I was thinking of the huge mountain of life I was facing – this mountain that is crazily humongous in front of me, refusing to let on. This mountain had horribly steep edges, not easy to even scale, let alone climb. I must have seen similar ones in the past, but this time it felt like a mammoth task. And as I craned my neck to see how much more I had to climb, I felt frustrated that I didn’t have the tools to hack away at it or even to the resources to assess what I needed to get a toehold – somewhere, somehow, some crevice perhaps?
I just felt lost – ill equipped, tired and… alone.
So I looked at this mountain and ready to burst into tears – howl, actually. But you know what? The weight of all those great words from my friends and family were right there in front of me – ‘strong person’… effing ‘inspiration’… if only they would see me now! If only they would get a feel of the dubiety crashing about in my head.
Mocking me.
Crying and breaking down is not a luxury I have. Parenting children who look up to me as the one steady parent to give them a future with some semblance of security, I have no luxury to cry and be weak. No luxury to stumble, crack or crash.
No safety net, you see? And no, I’m not looking for a lecture – maybe all I need was someone stronger who would just hold me and keep a box of Kleenex nearby without making eye contact. I don’t think I would be able to digest it fully.
Yet.. Well, ok, I’m learning to, in some spaces… but for the most part, not easy.
So, you see, I have no choice but to stand up and put one foot in front of the other and just move somewhere somehow.
You call that strength. I call that survival.
I call it survival because I have to wait for an empty house, to salvage my sanity and mental health, to empty my lungs of the grief that threatens to tear me apart on some days. The grief that comes out in ugly sobs and horrifying sounds that no one, but my dogs, get to hear and remain silent witnesses of. They are sounds of anguish and horrifying pain beyond measure. They sound like someone died – and I have no idea who it was.
Did you know that this strength you see has come after bone crushing pain? The agony and trauma that had to be endured just so this great inspiring story gets to shine? That every time someone comments about my strength, or reminds me that I am my father’s ‘strong girl’, I am horrifyingly reminded of the horror that I had to endure to still be here to be this stellar exemplar?
And at every step of the way, one thing was persisted – I didn’t know if a tomorrow would come.
I still don’t know that, but then, who does?
But today, like many other odd days here & there, I just am tired of being strong. I don’t want to be strong. I just want to be curl up and go to sleep – forget everything and everyone. But it isn’t a luxury I can afford. I have a zillion things to do and take care of – including myself.
I don’t want to be the strong one, because then the expectation to remain strong sticks! When I feel like I am compared to someone else for my strength & grit, the only thing that I can hear is, ‘You’re strong, you can deal with some more crap as opposed to xyz, who may be weaker so may be excused, even if you’re the one who should be spared the repeat show.’
You see how that sits? How ruthlessly unfair that is? That after years of pain, one is possibly expected to take on more pain because they have shown that they have the capacity to take it on?
So when I look from the outside in and try to see the Luvena you all see, I agree. I see one helluva woman who, despite it all, has made it through. One day at a time. I also see the sleepless nights and the 19-20 hours of work slogged straight through to put her son through University. I see the relentless exhaustion of having to run kids to the ER with broken bones and food poisoning all the while nursing a bad back. I see the mother, daughter, lover, friend, sister, teacher, etc being all these things and showing up for the responsibilities of those relationships. And ok, I see where the, ‘Oh you’re so strong!’ bit comes up…
The next time you want to tell someone how strong they are – and you may or not may not really know their back story – just pause to think of the traumatic sh*tfest that they may have endured to remain standing in front of you today. I don’t know what a better alternative would be. I don’t know, really..
That it isn’t really fair – to either of us…. but after a great big session of the waterworks in an empty house, and as I feel a bit of relief, I just thought that I would put this here as an applause and an silent nod to say, ‘I see you’ for those others of us who are a walking inspiration to others just for showing up and being strong… because anything else is not an option.
No one need know of the battle you are fighting, but you are seen… you are cared for… and you are loved. Sending you love for whatever you are going through.
That’s all I wanted to say today.
Luvena's World 