musings on strength

As I mentioned in my previous post, my friend Lindsay has started her Friday Photo Challenge over on her blog, Destined to be an old woman with no regrets. Part of the challenge, beyond posting a photo that works with the theme, is to comment on the other contributors as well. So on this grey, Sunday morning in Nanaimo, I grabbed my coffee cup and started perusing the other contributors pages.

There are so many definitions of strength, so many different ways it can be interpreted. The photo submissions were all excellent, as were the explanations and comments that ran along with them. But it was in reading A Garden for Butterflies that I was particularly struck.

This individual has suffered an unimaginable loss, that would destroy so many people. She writes in her post:

"Friends have called me "strong"; my psychiatrist called me "resilient". Instead of feeling complimented, I feel offended. I don't feel strong, I am not exhibiting behaviors of a strong person. By saying "strong" and "resilient" it feels like people are telling me "you're doing great, keep up the good work."

That comment struck home for me. We all struggle through life. The author of those words lost a child, the Steadfast Warrior lost two children before they were born, and I struggled with my homosexuality for years. While I can't even begin to calculate the loss of a child, I can empathize with those words. People can tell you that you are strong, and perhaps, on some level those words help just a tiny little bit. But I don't think that they offer the level of support that the speaker intends.

We live in a world that is obsessed with our privacy. We seldom share the 'reality' that occupies our souls and hearts and minds. People are always saying how lucky I am, how I am so good natured and easy going. While coming to terms with the fact that I was gay, I kept reading about what a liberating experience it is, to express ones freedom, etc etc yadda yadda yadda. But the fact is, I am not as happy as I appear all the time, and never was. It is an act, a facade. During my struggle, I went home every night, at one level ashamed of who I was, and wanting to crawl out of my skin, just to end the internal conflict. I was even entertaining suicidal thoughts at one point. And while that part of my life is over, and I have settled into being comfortable with who I am, the fact that I was so unhappy to the point of being suicidal remains with me. The fright of being capable of those thoughts will be with me for the rest of my life. Which is why, when people are constantly calling me happy, it can feel hollow, just like telling a grieving mother how strong they were must be. Small words said with kind intent, but with small effect.

Strength is not physical, and it is not endurance. Strength is the power to change, the power to adapt and emerge new. It is a process. Life throws all of us obstacles, some more than others. Just because someone has overcome an obstacle once, twice, or three times does not mean that they can get over each and every one for the rest of their lives.

I am not advocating that we should stop saying these things. Rather, I have a different proposal. I also fully acknowledge that the words I am about to write here are words I need to take to heart myself:

The next time you are compelled to say to someone "Look how strong you are," stop and think. Are you saying it because you are not sure what to say? Or what help or assistance or love you can offer? If you are, use those words instead. Tell the person that you want to help, and need to know how. I expect that those words will carry far more weight than "You're so strong."

We need to think before we speak.

And I'm out.