Struggling to Understand Strength

I’ve valued the notion of “strength” for as long as I can remember. I’m fairly certain that it began when I was younger, and I quickly realized that genetics had endowed me with an above-average mass of muscle for a female. This was readily apparent to me when I scored a soccer goal from more than halfway up the field when I was in elementary school. I believe I latched onto valuing “strength” at a young age because I subconsciously realized that I would almost have to as it seemed to be an inherent part of me.

I still value physical strength; I engage in a variety of physical activities as a means of maintaining various aspects of my health. Moreover, I am always proud of moments in which myself, and others, display their strength. I’m proud that my dad ran his first marathon when he was in his 60’s. I'm proud that my mom, sister Jill, and myself moved entire apartment of heavy furniture from Nashville to Des Moines (Sidenote: which is in itself a great story with many adventures). I’m proud of one of my coworkers that competes in lifting competitions. I think it’s fantastic to challenge our bodies to grow and develop and see what they can do.

However. (Of course there is a however!) I am so…frustrated….with how the word “strength” is used in terms of one’s emotional and cognitive abilities. So often, we seem to understand emotional/cognitive strength as stoicism. If you recall, my professional career is to talk with people about their grief. And I hear the same concepts about strength over, and over, again. “I thought I was a strong person, but then when Bobby Sue died...I just cried and cried and cried.” Or, here is another one. “I have to stay strong and not lose it in front of my family.” So often, strength is painted as the ability to contain and control the expression of one’s emotions.

I really wonder if there is a subconscious part of these individuals that isn’t so much lamenting their lack of strength, but rather that they have to go through the experience of grief at all.  And that they latch on to the concept of“strength” because they are trying to avoid enduring grief’s painful experience.  

Regardless of motivation, I am still frustrated with how this term is used. And this understanding of strength as physical endurance coupled with emotional stoicism is painfully pervasive in so many different scenarios. For example, we have had families begging their loved ones in our hospice care to “try and eat some food so that they can stay strong.” I do not mean to undermine the incredible anguish these families are going through, but at the same time, it just pains me to see them so infatuated with this idea of strength that they encourage someone who is actively dying to eat. I hate to break it to you, but Billie Joe is actively dying, and there is not enough food in the world to stop it.

As I emphasized in the beginning of this post, I DO value physical strength. However, my concern is that we glorify physical strength and emotional stoicism to the point of ridiculousness. Is it amazing to push our bodies? Yes, it is. Nevertheless, our bodies are ultimately finite, and there will come a point where they will no longer do what we want them to do. If we only value strength in terms of physical capabilities, how can we value bodies that start to lose their muscle mass due to the ravages of disease? And to that point, how can we value humans that have reached that level?

I am so frustrated with the one-dimensional use of the term strength, and yet I feel privileged that every day I witness actual feats of strength.  I am so amazed at the strength of a woman that lost her husband of 60 years. She is able to continue to wake up every morning and find new ways of engaging in the world after having lost one of her most significant, and longest, relationships. I value that strength. I am so amazed at the strength of a 70-year-old man that sobs in front of me as he talks about his wife that died. I value the strength that it takes to be transparent in front of a stranger; the strength it takes to bare your emotions and your soul. I am amazed at the strength of a father that talks to his children about missing their mother because of the courage it must take for him to let his kids see his vulnerabilities at a time that he is acutely aware of his own limitations.

And, I’m amazed at the strength in myself. That I am able to bear the weight of grief every day, and yet within those stories of grief, I still see the incredible beauty and hope that is forever there, growing and creating within the pain in unbelievable ways.

I return to where I started. I value strength. And I want to continue to challenge myself to find new ways of understanding it and appreciating it.  How do you understand strength? What acts of strength have amazed you?