I have grown up hearing people call me strong. One will say, “ But Guulo you are a strong woman, you get through this or whatever “ And it is supposed to be a compliment and sometimes it has cemented assurance in myself. But what if strong is not what I want to be all the time?
I want to be ale to fall apart and be vulnerable. I want to cry and wail like a damsel in distress sometimes. I know it sounds weird but I need to touch brokenness in the presence of people I love so that I know what vulnerability feels without judgement and with reckless abandon.
I have to be strong, for a long time it has felt like the rule to living this life. But I feel like at the expense of finding my raw softness, I have chosen strong. I have built my thick skin and unwavering resolve to doing life regardless of the stroms waging. And people love strong but I need to touch the raw enotion that has been buried for so long.
What if strong is not all that counts?
What if in our rawest selves we are most human? Yes the facade for strength keeps our very selves at bay.
I am not speaking of unpacking in our trauma and hurt and building “woe is me” fortes. I am speaking of being alive to empathy and all the other emotions that make us humane.
I want to cry without holding back. I want to laugh heartily without restraint. To be able to touch the depths of emotion with one agenda- To live in the moment.
I want that.
What if strong is not what I should be? What if?
