Strength

The ideas for this post have been whirling around in my brain for a few days now, but the words didn't seem to come out and the time has been somewhat scarce. Here I am on a 9 p.m. train heading back from a 1st holiday party at a new job and the thought won't let me go - so I will try to jot it down as coherently as is possible before it escapes. Hopefully, it'll make some sense...

I come from a family of strong women. Both of my grandmothers were extremely brave, strong and loving. Then there's my mom and there's not enough words in any language I know to describe her courage. My aunt is another prime example. This is not to say that the men in my family are weak, but quiet the contrary. It takes a very strong man to be with a strong woman. In my house, my parents always had equal voices. Maybe my mom knew more about this and my dad knew more about that, but every decision was made together. Yes, there were arguments. Those happen quiet often between two strong people, but as I got older I realized that it only reinforces the love and respect you have for your partner. If you never fight, one person in the relationship is a weaker, more agreeable one. That doesn't make him bad, but it's just impossible to agree on everything.

None of the aforementioned women, have had an easy life. Both my grandmothers lived through WWII, one by working in a factory, the other in an Uzbek family. They lost a father, a brother, a train full of classmates and many other friends and relatives like so many jews during the war. Luckily, they didn't lose their lives. My maternal grandmother raised my mom on her own by working (often two jobs) to make ends meet. My paternal grandmother lost her husband and the love of her life fairly young. She continued to raise her family and be the ultimate matriarch to two sons, five granddaughters and four great-grand-kids. We all immigrated and the struggles continued for them and began for me.

I hear from both friends and acquaintances, "you're so strong." I am not. Strength doesn't come from choice. I don't want to get any stronger, but somehow these walls keep building and the terror is felt only from within. You cannot explain the pain or the hurt or the rumbles that you feel inside. You go on pretending to be uninflicted, smiling even, laughing sometimes. You work, you eat, you sleep, you celebrate birthdays and holidays, you spend time with friends. Each day you die a little more. Each day there's a needless argument, there's an urgent return to be done, a phone call that must be made and someone you love is in the hospital, yet again. Where do you find the strength? Unfortunately, I don't have women to ask anymore (besides my dearest aunt, who's always had more on her plate than she knew what to do with) and as for the men, they are men. They don't talk about feelings. They shy away from doctors. They love with their actions. Their physical strength is only a fraction of the inner strength it takes to fight a war and get deeply wounded, to lose a child, to lose a mother and wife a year apart.

Strength isn't something you develop by choice. It isn't how many arm-wrestling tournaments you can win. It is your ability to get up every morning and to keep fighting, to keep smiling, to sing songs, to celebrate birthdays and holidays, to love and to keep living.

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Sent from my mobile device

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"We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand."
-Randy Pausch