I have been told most of my life that strength is my best attribute. Fairly recently though, I have come to realize it's also one of my downfalls. Since being diagnosed with Trigeminal Neuralgia I struggle daily to find balance between my natural tenacity for all things difficult and accepting the human side of being vulnerable. This is the side I told myself no one wanted to hear about. Truthfully, it was me who couldn't accept weakness in myself.
Yes, I am strong. I know very well how to persevere through adversity. But is it also a sign of great strength to be able to ask for help? This, perhaps takes more courage.
You know, strength serves me so well. Its what helps me overcome little annoyances and massive heartaches. It keeps my head on straight when my world is spinning out of control. Strength is there to help with the daily push and pull of life. It's a map that keeps me on course, and a compass that points to the North Star when I am lost. It's the brave face I am able to put on when a loved one is lost or I am let down by someone I cared about.
Therefore, given all that my strength does for me, it's no wonder I am reluctant to relinquish even a small piece of it.
However, for all the good that strength provides it can't be all that I have. If I never give it a break or take a break from it, in time it will break me. If I rely too much on it, I will eventually lack the ability to ask for help. I have learned, the hard way albeit, you have to give people a reason to reach out. I've been told time and time again that loved ones are not mind readers nor are they punching bags or doormats. If someone cares enough to reach out or to respond to a cry for help, chances are they want to be there for me. They appreciate the beauty of my strength, but love the vulnerability in my eyes even more. When you push people away in hopes of appearing tough, they eventually stop reaching out.
And then what? Strength will be all thats left, and thats a lonely road to walk alone. Time and time again I have excelled at the art of camouflage, showing only what is shiny and bright and expected of myself. It didn't get me very far. Not in my own development or in my development of lasting relationships with others. I've always embraced and nurtured the chance to witness vulnerability in others and shunned my own.
So the next time someone asks if I am o.k. I will remember to: Stop. Take a second. Breathe. Put aside all my negative preconceived notions of what help, weakness, and vulnerability are, and answer truthfully and from my heart.
You never know. Saying yes to help might mean the world to someone else as well.