But I'm going to let you in on a secret: strength is not a character trait, it's a responsibility.
You may see me as cold in a crisis, or angry. Those are important stones in the wall. Those give us both some stability to hold on to.
"Get your ass across that rope bridge!" is generally more effective in my experience than "It's better to die when the rope bridge snaps than to be mauled to death by a rampaging bear." Generally, the anger is something that covers up my own terror as well as distracting the other person's. If I'm taking responsibility in stomping across the bridge angrily berating the other person for not moving fast enough, I'm not screaming "OMG OMG we're SO definitely going to die." The recriminations once we're across are preferable to the alternative outcomes.
The problem is that even though OUTSIDE the wall I'm saying "Get your ass across that rope bridge", inside I'm saying "OMG OMG we're SO going to die". There is no strong one for the strong one.
I am isolated and alone much of the time anyway, but the pandemic has made it worse. Between the pandemic and the insurrection, I'm under a lot of pressure. The air doesn't move well inside the fortress of the strong one. I feel stifled and trapped most days. Inside, I am bouncing off my walls. I know I can't show my fear too much. All of those news stories, the lines of people at the hospitals and the test sites, the people driving around with their Trump flags and their confederate flags flying behind their pickup trucks and jeeps... that all that scrapes at me until I feel raw. Everything hurts right now.
Inside the fortress of the strong, I am not sure whether to curl up in a ball and weep, or scream with rage and pain. Instead, I repack some of my boxes, scrub the bathtub, and play online games I am more consistently losing because it's hard to see the damn hidden object through the tears in my eyes. Inside, I'm both weeping and screaming helplessly.
I am worried I will have to be stronger in the coming days, but my walls feel brittle. I constantly doubt my ability to build them back up. I wonder at the futility of doing so. I remind myself I have children, to boost up my sense of responsibility. I know they are adults, and I can only protect them so far, which makes it more difficult to motivate stacking the stones around me.
There are smaller things as well, each requiring some level of structural support in my fortress. There is the grief of my daughter's death. There is the economic hardship. There is my son's illness. These are the painful day to day assaults on the fortress and the people I love and try to shelter. They now seem overshadowed by the larger crisis in this country, but they are there, painfully gnawing in those shadows.
Being the strong one is also, in some ways, a lack of trust. I worry if I put this down, if I let the walls fall, that there will be no one there to stack the stones, to build a fortress, to be the strong one. It doesn't help if we're all quivering and motionless in fear at the start of the rope bridge with the maddened bear charging us. And I can't risk everyone thinking someone else will step up.
Of course now things are not as immediate as a rampaging bear, even if they feel as critical. And I'm slowly trying to pass the baton, or at least share some of the burden. I'm doing this tentatively, like a turtle slowly pushing out his head, hoping it won't get bitten off. It's a point of vulnerability. It's also a window that lets some light and air in.
I need some light and air right now.
Comments
Post a Comment