I’ve heard it from strangers around the world. I’ve heard it from my inner circle. And it feels nice; really, it does. It makes me think I’ve done a real good job disguising the lesions someone else’s decisions have added to my skin. Hell, it makes me delusional enough to believe I could win an Oscar for my performance if there was a category my story could fall into.
But I know the truth. I know the days where I’ve sat in silence, sheathed by darkness, trying to keep the wails from ripping through my throat. I know the moments that have threatened to bring me to my knees and I know what the aftermath of a sleepless night looks like.
But, the thing is, I had no choice but to keep all of that hidden.
Being strong was the only option if I were to survive the loss of my father.
They say god gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers, but what ‘they’ fail to recognize is that strength is forged; created. It is not a qualifying factor. No, I have become this way, this hardened version of a girl I once knew because, unlike my father, I am still here. My heart still beats, my lungs still breathe. Maybe not all that well, but that isn’t the point.
When I close my eyes before bed, I know that they are bound to open after the sun rises. Because of this, I have kept my heart heavily guarded. And I have done so since the second I found out what he had done. Because I don’t ever want to feel that type of pain again. I don’t want to sit on another carpet screaming into my Aunt’s shoulder, or do a read through of my eulogy while in a criss-cross applesauce position on my mother’s bed.
And I certainly don’t want to walk out of my house, only to be a whole new person when I walk back in, all because I’ve seen the things that convert my dreams to nightmares.
And so I’ve closed myself off. I’ve planted a veil that obscures the pain.
Because you can’t get hurt when you don’t let anyone in.
At least, that’s my hope.
Now I know why you always told me to be strong. You knew that one day I would need the strength to bear your loss.
Unknown
I know that I am strong, but being strong came at a cost. In order to grow into this variant, I had to lose someone I loved. I had my entire life and future altered all so that I could be something I wasn’t before.
But what I have learned is that strength isn’t just protecting yourself, it’s about allowing yourself to show your heart. It’s about letting yourself fall apart when it gets too hard to bottle it in. From the minute grief touches you, even if you don’t believe it, you are warrior. Because life, as I like to think, can only go up from your lowest point.
Nothing can dim the light that shines from within.
Maya Angelou
We Got This 