“You Are So Strong”

Disclaimer: I am endlessly grateful for ALL support. It has gotten me through this past 1.5 months!!!!! If you’ve said “you are so strong” or anything like it, I have read it and SMILED. Thank you that’s all. Please continue reading.

The days following my diagnosis felt like a dark and twisted fever dream. We were in the height of summer and the humidity in the air was so palpable it clung to my body, suffocating me with its weight. 

I can only try to describe my mental state as being faced with the task of untangling a necklace. Have you ever had someone hand you a necklace to untangle? I felt as if I was asked to untangle a dear friend's cherished necklace, given to them by a recently passed grandmother. The task felt personal, invasive, and yet so foreign, like it was meant for someone else. If there’s one thing I’m certain of, its that this task was well above my pay grade. This necklace was disease ridden with finely fastened knots running up the length of it, a piece of hair stuck in one of the entanglements, and no sign of the start or end in sight. 

I stared at this mess of precious metal, crumpled before me in my hands and thought shit, that's the most tangled necklace I’ve ever seen. Nobody wants to spend a hot, sticky, summer night untangling a necklace. 

When given a task of this rigor, the mind is forced to work in creative ways, it tries new personalities on for size; perhaps to test if a version of you will come along more suited for the job. For me, this looked like a new development of dark humor. I’ve never had a dark sense of humor so unlocking this tiny, covered in dust, tucked in the back of the attic, labeled ‘fragile’, area of my brain, felt daring, exciting even. My brother and I practiced a sick banter toying with the situation I had found myself in. We laughed concerningly hard over jokes that if someone had overheard, they might have sent us to jail, or perhaps admitted us somewhere. 

While this humor certainly brought some pleasantries, it was a toxic form of coping. It plagued my innocence and tainted a light that had shined so brightly for the 19 years I've been on this Earth. It scared my friends, and it scared me too. I didn't like the way they hesitated, trying to decipher if laughing at my jokes, so clearly derived from pain, would bring me comfort or hurt me more. It really felt wrong when I would laugh so hard that I would feel a cry coming on. How could humor, something so joyous, get confused with fear and pain. These starkly contrasting emotions were shaken and strained into a muddy cocktail. My insides resembled a mudslide made with curdled milk. Was it fun? Was it concerning? Will it cause pain tomorrow, something like an emotional hangover, because I had too much? It was all a bit confusing. 

“You are so strong” became the butt of all jokes. In the first few days, when everyone was absorbing the shock just as much as me, I think it was all people knew how to say. “You are so strong.” There seemed to be no other words. With my cynical spirits high and alive, ready to play, I began to mock the phrase. My mom would say something like, “dishes are clean and done!” to which I would reply, “you are so strong,” and we would meet eyes, her knowing exactly what I meant, a mischievous laugh to follow. We were laughing 10% at the joke, 40% at the pain, 50% at I’m not sure what. The shock, maybe? I didn't know why I hated the phrase so much but something about it made my insides turn with anger and spite. I could barely muster a push-up before this whole situation came about and suddenly all these people were telling me that I was so strong. The irony only aided the subtle sting of the comment. I knew people were just trying to be supportive. In some ways the phrase felt generic, and cheesy, like something someone would say when they hadn’t any other words. I felt as though I was sitting there, collecting the broken pieces of my shattered life into a basket far too small for the shrapnel, and all anyone could say was “you are so strong.” I deemed it a lazy phrase. A copout.

“I just don't know how you’re doing this! You're 19! Too young for this! You are so strong.” You don't know how I'm doing this? I am “so strong” for going through this? Did you expect me to receive my diagnosis, pack my bags, flee to France, and refuse treatment? Is that what not being strong looks like? I was confused. 

After lots of reflection and many hours spent in doctors waiting rooms left to ponder my anger, I realized why “you are so strong” bothered me so much. It bothered me because it made me feel like I had a choice to be strong. Which I did not.  

I did not feel strong. I hadn’t even started treatment. I had feats to conquer and no wins to celebrate. No chance to prove myself. I actually felt very weak. I felt helpless as I sat and watched all sense of normalcy, my idea of a perfect summer, over-scheduled with travel plans, quickly dissipate before my eyes. I didn’t have a choice to untangle the necklace. It was abruptly dropped in my hand and life said, go. 

It bothered me because I know that anyone could do what I’m doing. Anyone could do it because they would have to. To say that someone is strong for something they are going through implies that we have a choice to endure that pain or fear or whatever it is. It suggests that some do not endure. We all endure. 

We as humans are built with strength beyond what we could possibly imagine. Our minds and bodies are born with the ability to venture to the most treacherous depths, even if we do not encounter them in our lifetime. The strength it takes to lift a car off a child’s leg, or quit a job you hate, or face breast cancer at 19.

I do not deny that I am strong. I am not saying I am weak. I just mean that I am no stronger than anyone else.

My strength does show. When we encounter adversity, our strength shows. When we endure, our strength shows. 

When we are handed a necklace and told to untangle it, we are not strong for simply being handed it. We show our strength in the messy moments, when we stop to take deep breaths because we have convinced ourselves the knot is too tight or tangled. When we think the task is no match for our human hands but we try anyway. When we are able to find joy with each coil we are able to loosen. We show strength when we share with others how we did it and show them that they can do it too, no matter how ravelled or hopeless their necklace may appear. We are strong when we sit outside on the deck, on those hot, sticky summer nights and put on music and surround ourselves with friends, and make a party out of the task. We are not strong because we have been given a knotted necklace. We are strong when we wear this necklace with pride; a necklace that will never be the same as when our grandmother passed it down to us, or when we purchased it brand new in one of those clear slip bags it comes protected in. Strength is wearing a necklace that may still have a kink in it, or is a bit worn, battered and tarnished from wear and tear. Strength is still finding the beauty in it. I think that is strength.

XO,

M