“You’re so strong!”  “You’re the strongest woman I know!”  “You’re so resilient”.  These are comments I often hear from friends and family, particularly after making it through a difficult time in my life.  Cancer. Loss of a loved one.  Surgery.  And as is often the case when I pass through a significant milestone in my existence (e.g., a “big” birthday, another year of sobriety), my sometimes over-active mind starts to reflect on the rapidly changing backdrop of those events.  I wonder how I managed to navigate all that’s happened in just the past 5 years.  Some would say it’s a result of my strength; I think I’m just stubborn.

Five years ago I celebrated what I considered a significant birthday.  My daughter arranged a beautiful party, and I was surrounded by a room full of women who knew me best and had walked with me through different phases of my 60 years.  I’m pretty sure I dropped some hints about wanting a party, even though I usually don’t like being the center of attention.  But the venue and the guests were all her doing, and I was incredibly moved by the outpouring of love and validation I received.  Little did I know that just a month or so later I would receive a cancer diagnosis that would define the next year of my life, and as such would bring more of those affirmations of my alleged “strength”.  

But as I sit here 5 years later and “reflect” (ruminate really), I don’t think strength had anything to do with it.  Most days I feel like a puddle of self-pity, stuck in a swirl of uncertainty while trying to keep up the façade I’ve managed to somehow create of being a strong, resilient woman.

It seems that these past 5 years were full of challenges which would overwhelm even the strongest of women: not only my cancer diagnosis, but my daughter’s (which was far more serious than mine); a pandemic that resulted in my husband’s company closing, forcing not one but 2 moves in less than a year; the sale of a home; the involuntary loss of a job;  two knee surgeries; and even happy events like the wedding of a son, joyful yet not without its own measure of stress.  And yet, here I am.

Most of these events didn’t occur in a vacuum.  They all have underlying impacts which may not be apparent on the surface.  30 years ago, while participating in a bereavement group, those “secondary losses” were pointed out as a significant part of grieving.  I believe the events of the past five years carry with them the same ancillary impacts: mortality; loss of purpose which comes from not working; loneliness resulting from leaving the familiar circle of friends and family, at least geographically; the necessity of acknowledging physical limitations.

I was raised to think that perseverance and self-reliance were the cornerstones of success.  Everything was a matter of “will power”, from my eating habits to my grades in school, and even my need for sleep (being tired was just a “state of mind”, according to JM; it was mind over matter).  That whole concept was flipped on its head when I got sober and learned that “self will run riot” was the cause of most of my problems.  Self-reliance went out the window, and I had to learn a whole new vocabulary.  Strength in weakness; dependence not defiance; reliance on others and on a power greater than myself.  Much to my surprise, and in spite of my cynicism, it worked.  I was able to face situations that I never imagined I could and come through the other side; not necessarily unscathed, but not destroyed or devastated.  And to many, that looked like strength.

I haven’t written much this past year, other than a post about not being able to write, and part of that is not feeling as if I had much to share; no words of wisdom to impart.  But perhaps it’s even more important to write during times like this.  To show that sometimes personal strength isn’t necessary to survive, just a prideful stubbornness to hang on and defy illness, controversy, pandemics, and the many other events which I have no control over.  Acknowledging that lack of control is often the starting point for healing a dark night of the soul.  

There’s a song by Lauren Daigle which she released earlier this year called “Hold On to Me”.  Part of the lyrics are: “Hold on to me when it’s too dark to see you, when I am sure I have reached the end.  Hold on to me when I forget I need you.  When I let go, hold me again.”  Perhaps I need to look at the events of the past several years and be reminded that even when I forget I don’t have to be strong and self-sufficient and I try to tough it out to show how strong I am, when I forget to ask for help because I think it’s a sign of weakness, there is something or someone holding me.  Some call it a Higher Power or Spirit of the Universe.  I call it God.  And that’s where the real strength is.  My stubbornness and pride are just the tools that tide me over until I remember that there is no shame in surrender, in holding on.