I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be
strong.
I suspect I appear strong to others, because it probably
looks as if I have things going quite well for me and that I have a ‘good head
on my shoulders’ or something like this. I have a great circle of caring &
fun friends. I am doing my PhD on full scholarship at a top-ranked
institution. I’ve always played sports at a high level. I create
art and sometimes even perform it in public venues. I’ve been actively involved
in a variety of student council type activities. I’ve been successful at
getting teaching opportunities and jobs with leadership responsibilities, and I
generally do well in these environments. I’m determined, hardworking, and
organised, and I tend to get shit done (and usually in advance of deadlines!)
and this is what many people see when they look at me. I can appear ‘strong’ to
others, and sometimes I even trick myself.
But all of my close friends know another side of me as well. They know that I all too frequently struggle with really intense feelings of worthlessness and meaningless, and that I often find myself losing total hope and wanting to give up. My close friends know that I walk this weird, delicate balance where I desperately want people to love and accept me and near-constantly doubt that they do. It can be debilitating to always wonder if they do. My close friends know I want to be someone who doesn’t need anyone, all the while knowing that I’m someone who totally needs a loving, supporting community around me because human beings are built for relational connections, and I’ve grown to need this over the years. They know that I crack under pressure and can easily enter a full-on panic attack where I seemingly forget how to breathe; where I gasp for air, blubbering like a baby, until my body becomes so tired from shaking and hyperventilating that I finally shut down, and I just lay there for a while before stoically getting up and forcing myself to get shit done. Because I get shit done…that’s what strong people do, right?
But all of my close friends know another side of me as well. They know that I all too frequently struggle with really intense feelings of worthlessness and meaningless, and that I often find myself losing total hope and wanting to give up. My close friends know that I walk this weird, delicate balance where I desperately want people to love and accept me and near-constantly doubt that they do. It can be debilitating to always wonder if they do. My close friends know I want to be someone who doesn’t need anyone, all the while knowing that I’m someone who totally needs a loving, supporting community around me because human beings are built for relational connections, and I’ve grown to need this over the years. They know that I crack under pressure and can easily enter a full-on panic attack where I seemingly forget how to breathe; where I gasp for air, blubbering like a baby, until my body becomes so tired from shaking and hyperventilating that I finally shut down, and I just lay there for a while before stoically getting up and forcing myself to get shit done. Because I get shit done…that’s what strong people do, right?
I try to limit these ‘weak’ moments like my anxiety or depression to the comfort of my own home but they’ve happened in spaces where I couldn’t
bottle them in anymore; I regularly had panic attacks at the department building where I
did my master’s degree. One time I collapsed on a walk home from school from
hyperventilating after a particularly anxiety-ridden day. I felt totally dejected the other morning at the library
while printing an assignment because I began doubting whether I had anything
worthwhile to say, or whether I should be in this PhD program. I frequently experience intensely
negative thoughts that I am not good enough to be doing whatever it is I am trying to do. And
I begin to feel weak. And then I feel weak for beginning to feel weak, because why not. ‘Weak people are lame! Get it together!!’ It can be a vicious cycle.
I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be
strong.
One of the lookouts from the wall of the old city in Dubrovnik, Croatia |
I’m extremely competitive, not just with other people but also
with myself. Sometimes competitiveness and drive is good, and I have had some
excellent improvements in my life from my desire to excel and improve, but I
can also become a cruel, unkind person when totally driven by my desire to want
to be the best at something no matter the cost. I try to reign this in and to
re-orient my priorities, but there are so many societal pressures that instruct
us, either explicitly or implicitly, to try to be the absolute best. This means
different things for different people, but I suspect we all have some form of
this being shoved into our faces and down our throats. It can be difficult to
fight against these messages and pressures, and it can seem appealing and
attractive to respond with fervor to them; to rise up and ‘be stronger’ or ‘better’
or whatever adjective applies to your own context. (Smarter...prettier...thinner…wealthier
…etc.)
I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be
strong.
Practicing the art of balance along an abandoned rock beach in Dubrovnik |
I’m tempted to think of strength simply as perseverance—as
the act of using the mental equivalent of pure brute force to press on and push
through whatever difficulty might arise. I’m tempted to think of strength as
‘getting shit done’ even when you feel like lying in bed.
But, when I’m honest with myself, I submit that this sort of
strength isn’t really strength at all but a means of maintaining the illusion
of control so to appear strong to people around me. It’s a clever façade; and,
at least for me, it’s driven mostly by pride and by fear. It becomes something
that is attainable and even measureable (‘are you getting shit done, or aren’t
you? You are? Okay, then you’re good.’) and I love any semblance of numerical
validity to assure me that I’m doing alright. (‘But look at all these boxes I
checked off my to do list this afternoon; I must be fine!’) This is
task-oriented drivenness; I’m not convinced it is strength. At least it’s not
the degree/depth/expression of strength I want to strive for.
There are moments in life where this ‘brute force’ is
helpful. It’s been great for me that can meet my deadlines even though I feel
like shit and like the world has no meaning and like I’d rather be dead. (This
happens more frequently than I’d like to admit to.) It’s been incredibly convenient
that I can continue to check off the boxes of my never-ending to do lists. But
I don’t think this is necessarily ‘strength.’ I think strength may be something
different.
I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be
strong.
The skull speaks of durability and mortality; the carnation of fragility and impermanence. Taken at a museum in Amsterdam. |
I’ve begun to conceptualise strength as something that isn’t
just perseverance (though, to be sure, that has its merits) but as mindful
recognition of the present-reality—no matter the reality—and making intentional,
even if small, steps toward positive change. Sometimes that begins with my
recognising that I feel weak and shitty and hopeless and like life is
meaningless. Sometimes that very recognition of weakness is the first step/sign
of strength.
I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be
strong.
I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.
Here are some of the strongest phrases that come to mind as I write this. This list is neither exhaustive or perfect.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve not heard/thought of that before.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“I’m doubting the things I used to believe.”
“I feel sad/lonely/dejected.”
“I’m sorry for the way I acted.”
“I don’t understand xyz, but I love you.”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve not heard/thought of that before.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“I’m doubting the things I used to believe.”
“I feel sad/lonely/dejected.”
“I’m sorry for the way I acted.”
“I don’t understand xyz, but I love you.”
The strength of these phrases comes from both their willingness to be vulnerable and open, and their admittance of uncertainty. They defy the version of strength that is sometimes forced down our throats by society. You probably know the kind of strength I’m referring to; you might strive for it.
I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.
A public memorial space in Berlin, Germany |
I love this line from one of my friend’s songs. Madi Smith writes, “I got myself together. Yeah, I know who I am. At least, I’ve found most of the pieces, and I piece them as best I can.” You can listen to it here. I love Madi's music, and I love this line in particular because it recognises the broken, mosaic-like identity that humans have; it speaks to finding our identity in the midst of that. Mosaics are beautiful when we allow them to be seen; so much more so than putting up a front of ‘I have this totally together and everything is figured out and I am fine, la la la.’
It is incredibly strong to admit that one feels weak.
It is incredibly strong to admit hesitation or uncertainty.
It is incredibly strong to be okay with the place you are in, and to work from there, wherever 'there' is.
Brene Brown, perhaps one of the most well-known researchers on shame and meaningful living, has been researching on this topic for well over a decade, and she can speak to this topic with far more detail than I can. You might want to check out her book/s or one of her youtube clips--maybe this one or this one are good starting points. I find her work to be very inspirational.
I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.
I could keep writing on and on about my thoughts on strength. Firstly, because I am impeccably long-winded and secondly, because I am a perfectionist and I’m afraid of posting this before I’ve revised and analysed and edited the heck out of it to find any holes in my argument or fix any ‘weak points.’ (I hate, hate HATE appearing weak or flawed.) But I’m going to post this as it is now. (Partly because I need to get to the library and work on my PhD, but more so because I am truly trying to embrace acceptance of where I am at.) These are some of the thoughts I have right now; this is the place I’m in and the spot I’m trying to breathe in and exist in. It isn't perfected, but I am trying to be at home with it.
I suspect the logic presented here is not perfect. You can probably find and latch on to a hole or a flaw without much difficulty. But, if I may, maybe the better way to exist in our beautiful broken world is to latch on to whatever you find that is good and inspiring, and to go on from there. If you have any thoughts you want to make heard, feel free to comment below, or feel free to message me. I’d be happy to hear them.
It is incredibly strong to admit that one feels weak.
It is incredibly strong to admit hesitation or uncertainty.
It is incredibly strong to be okay with the place you are in, and to work from there, wherever 'there' is.
Brene Brown, perhaps one of the most well-known researchers on shame and meaningful living, has been researching on this topic for well over a decade, and she can speak to this topic with far more detail than I can. You might want to check out her book/s or one of her youtube clips--maybe this one or this one are good starting points. I find her work to be very inspirational.
I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.
Perspective is absolutely everything; here, I'm tinier than a blade of grass. |
I could keep writing on and on about my thoughts on strength. Firstly, because I am impeccably long-winded and secondly, because I am a perfectionist and I’m afraid of posting this before I’ve revised and analysed and edited the heck out of it to find any holes in my argument or fix any ‘weak points.’ (I hate, hate HATE appearing weak or flawed.) But I’m going to post this as it is now. (Partly because I need to get to the library and work on my PhD, but more so because I am truly trying to embrace acceptance of where I am at.) These are some of the thoughts I have right now; this is the place I’m in and the spot I’m trying to breathe in and exist in. It isn't perfected, but I am trying to be at home with it.
I suspect the logic presented here is not perfect. You can probably find and latch on to a hole or a flaw without much difficulty. But, if I may, maybe the better way to exist in our beautiful broken world is to latch on to whatever you find that is good and inspiring, and to go on from there. If you have any thoughts you want to make heard, feel free to comment below, or feel free to message me. I’d be happy to hear them.