I have always wanted to be a strong person. Strength exudes maturity. That though what you’re dealing with hurts; Pain doesn’t win. You don’t allow it to. Sheer willpower does. You may have been mercilessly stripped off of all that you hold dear, but even in utter helplessness, you still gather the broken pieces and somehow find a way to move on.
Sometimes though, I also wonder if strength in itself is a prison.
I look at my mother and I see a Warrior. She has gone through a lot, but it never shows in her face. I like complimenting her on that. I love telling her that she is the strongest woman I know, and I hope to become even half the woman she is. I usually mean it as a compliment, but sometimes I feel like I’m giving her added pressure. I know that if I take a closer look, behind the fake smiles and empty pleasantries, I’ll find the cracks she struggles so hard to cover. That even if sometimes all she may want to do is be vulnerable and let everything out, she can’t. She is held back by responsibilities, obligatory familial and societal expectations, and maybe fear. Fear that if she crumbles, it is going to be much harder to get back up.
It’s hard always being a strong person, that you always have to be the one holding it all together. It feels like you are in a crucible and the heat and the pressure never let off. You are screaming yourself hoarse on the inside, but outwardly you display a blank mask. Over time, you become a shadow of your former self. You are a ticking time bomb, and it’s only a matter of time before you blow up.
Strength is not about always putting on a brave face or a tough and confident front, while dying on the inside. Though it may take a lot of courage, I think it also means being vulnerable with those you trust, and getting to release all the emotions; be it anger, frustration or desperation. It is taking baby steps and sometimes making stupid baseless decisions while trying to figure out how to
move forward, where to go on from here, taking life one step at a time.
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