I can't sleep. I've been laying in bed for hours and my mind is on Micah. Images are vivid in my mind and they won't go away...I'm nauseous and spinning.
"Becca, you are so strong." "You are so brave." "You just have so much strength."
Really? I hear this often but I don't see the truth. Because deep down I feel like a baby. I am weak and melting and hurting and shy. I know what it feels like to collapse onto a bathroom floor and yell at God. I know what it feels like to watch the sun rise after nothing but hours of nightmares and screams. I know what it feels like to be fragile and sensitive every second of the day, to everything in existence. I know pain and suffering and anger firsthand--am I really that "strong"?
I didn't ask to be in this situation. Does the mere fact that I have even been put in it create the illusion of strength? Does even "surviving" this far signify something to that effect? Maybe others just don't know what to say, and that's all they can sympathize with--that survival must mean strength exists somewhere?
I don't know. Sometimes I think I would better appreciate someone flat out telling me I am a weakling who has not one ounce of strength. Really? You think I'm weak? Thank you so so much, because truthfully, that's exactly how I've felt these past six months...how did you know?!
Grief is exhausting. I don't see how anyone is supposed to be strong all the time, anyway. I think it takes both weakness and strength to even get through one day--there's a perfect balance somewhere in there. Even one second can be a split between the two. One second, I'll think to myself, "Wow. I'm really sad and weak right now." So I'll validate that sadness and tell it that it can sit there for a little bit--because in reality, it really does deserve to be there. But then I'll close my eyes, gather a little strength deep down from the inside of my being (from God or maybe even Micah's love, I have yet to figure out where it comes from), and use that strength to ride out the weakness. Then it repeats, and repeats, and repeats; all day long--a daily cycle of waves of both sadness and happiness, weakness and strength.
So maybe I am a weakling of daily strengths.
And one day I might be a strength made of daily weaknesses...
But for now this is okay--and all I can do.
Now that my thoughts have escaped from this crazy brain of mine, maybe I can sleep. Love, and goodnight.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Becca- you seem to have lived and captured the essence of the dilemma of being "strong." Strength does not mean you are never devastated, that you are never depleted, or that the heaviness lifts from your heart. Strength to me is more how we respond to a situation.
ReplyDeleteI see your "strength of response" in how you have recognized and allowed the depth of your loss. How you have named your grief, and not tried to "ignore it away." How you have opened you heart to some others to allow them to see and share the sadness. You are strong by how you have not pushed away the grief, but have held and embraced it.
To me, the "weak" response would be to shut away the loss, pretend it is not there, living on in life like nothing happened.
I hear your weakness. I honor your strength in naming the weakness. I support your journey, and send my love across the miles.