Strong

It's 6:43 and the car is packed and ready to go. The kids will be up in fifteen minutes and in two hours we'll be on the road to one month in feeding therapy.  Of course we can do this.  Of course.  And I'll blog it all.

Something I hear a lot because of my writing and the people it reaches is how 'strong' I am. It's flattering, but always so very alien. I don't feel strong.

Strong doesn't mean attacking all your problems with a battering ram. Which I have. Strong doesn't mean shutting out the people you need the most because you're afraid. Which I have.  Strong doesn't mean being a hardass all the time.  Which I have.

Being truly strong means knowing when to yield. Knowing how to be present and not controlled by fear. Knowing that some things are more important than protecting yourself.

In an effort to be 'strong', I have been destructive.

Maybe now I can begin to learn how to be softer. Maybe I can learn to let the light in. Maybe I can be given the chance to show that 'strong' and 'tough' are not the same thing.  Silk thread is strong.  Leather is tough. Dried out jerky is tough. Life is tough. I don't want to be.