A Book Nerd's Inner Voices

What is Strength?

People keep telling me that I'm strong. More so in this last year. But what does that even mean? What does it mean to have someone seeing me doing the only thing I know how to do on the outside when inside, I'm screaming? Yes, each day I am choosing to see the silver lining, to believe there is a bigger purpose, to have faith that there is a higher power and that I am meant for something great, that all of this pointless bulls*** is happening for a reason. I have to. But how does any of that make me strong?





I feel so helpless, so powerless. I feel weak. I can't stop time. I can't change someone's mind when he says he's leaving. I can't stop death. I can do nothing to stand in the way of its cruel clutches, stealing away the life of someone I love. I can only step aside and watch.





The thing is, I KNOW death is a part of life. I KNOW pain is a part of living. Loss, heartbreak, betrayal. Putting your trust and heart in the hands of the wrong person. These things happen so that we can appreciate what we do have. Love, family, friendship. Hope. But it doesn't make them fair.





Bad things happen to good people, and sometimes, the bad people get away with their sins. So what? Life isn't easy. Life is hard. Apparently, that's the point. And I am so angry! I'm so mad that these things keep happening to people I care about. To people who are so GOOD. And yes, part of me is angry that they're happening to me.





But I can't stop them. So I do the only thing I know how to do: I keep going. I push on, keeping a brave face for the outside world, even though even a smile feels like a lie sometimes. I just keep living. I don't know how to do anything less. But I don't think that necessarily makes me strong. I'm not starving. I don't live in a world where being a woman limits me. I am not a slave. I don't fear death each time I walk out my door. I am not sick. My country is not at war on our soil. I don't have to hide who I am for fear of federal retribution. I don't have a lot of money, but I'm not poverty stricken. I have options, I have choices, and I have so many things that other people don't. Tragedy has struck my life, yes. But I'm still alive. We're still here. And when it's all just a memory, there will still be life to live.





I could rail against the gods, the universe. Demand answers I will never receive to the all-consuming question of "why?" And I have. But it does me no good. The good and the bad co-exist. You cannot have one without the other. Death is a part of life. Heartbreak is a part of love. Pain is inevitable. We cannot control it. We cannot stop its coming. We can only choose how we handle it. I could sit in a corner and cry until my tears stop; weep until I have flooded the room and purged my soul of all my pain just to have it fill anew.





Or.





Or, I could ride it out. I could take it in, accept that it just IS and adjust. It doesn't make the hurt any easier. It doesn't make the truth any less horrible to take. It doesn't make the knowledge that I am only holding it together by strings spun of glass, pulling them tighter for my loved ones, locking down every emotion expect the one that people call strength, any less depressing. But it does help me to just keep going.





I do recognize the concept of quiet courage; of waking up and trying again instead of dwelling on what could have been. Of fighting for life every day instead of just accepting existence. And I respect it. That, to me, is what being strong looks like. My mom used to tell me I wasn't as tough as I thought I was. Once again, I know that she's wrong. You are only as tough as you think you are. But today, I don't think I'd call what I'm doing "strong." I'm just trying my best to get through.





Though if you think about it, I guess that's all strength really is.