"Staying Weak"

By Beverly Bradley

A phrase has been popularized telling people they are strong or to “stay strong.” Even after a mass shooting in Las Vegas, the motto, “Vegas Strong” was proudly displayed. Well, maybe after a few years of grief, enduring and processing, some may emerge from their battle as stronger. I don’t think many were feeling very “strong” in the immediate aftermath of a devastating tragedy. My daughter, trying to be complimentary and noting my determined approach to cancer treatments called me a strong woman, a “badass.” I accepted her compliment in the spirit it was given, but the truth is, I was not “strong” in any normal sense of the word. I may have been (at various times) resigned, determined, stoic, or denying my feelings, but I sure did not feel strong.

Simply to have something DONE to you, out of your control, does not make you strong. To be shot and survive doesn’t mean you were strong. To get cancer and put one foot in front of the other doesn’t equate to being strong. The initial decision to begin a tough regimen of treatments and/or surgery doesn’t require bravery. It only requires one of two things (or both): fear of dying or love of living.

So, overall, I was weak. Though I was far from helpless, I was less able to function in former ways. As the chemo progressed and I suffered cumulative effects, the two or three days of fatigue after treatment extended to more days where I couldn’t make dinner or do housecleaning. By the way, I sure didn’t miss the housecleaning! I seriously missed having the energy to go on a quick errand to the store or have lunch with a friend. I didn’t want to go out because I was too tired. I wished I had the desire to go and do, but I sat at home, missing life. I’m the type who wants to help others, and fend for myself, not needing to rely on others. Cancer changed all that. Now I found myself in the unusual position of having to accept help, having others make meals, drive me around, and remind me of appointments in my “chemo fog” (a real thing). I wasn’t used to being the one accepting the help. I didn’t adjust too willingly. Finally, I quit fighting my new role. First, I had to quit resenting being helped. I had to accept my limitations. Then, I had to change my attitude toward those wanting to help. I made a decision to receive help gratefully from those who offered. As an active, independent person, it was not easy, but I learned to accept my new situation.  What made that easier was to see the happiness it brought others to assist me. Previously, I had enjoyed encouraging and comforting others. So I knew my friends and family were sincerely glad to step in.

Then I had an insight. Perhaps accepting one’s situation and recognizing one’s dependence on others really was a different type of strength. It required honesty to admit I needed help. I thought, I’m strong enough to admit the truth. I’m strong enough to overcome my ego which wanted to claim, “I can do this alone.” In fact, I’m strong enough to be weak for once.

Reflection:

How do you define “strength”? 

Are you able to graciously accept being helped?

Do you agree it takes a special type of grit to face weakness?