There’s a lot of merit to the Bob Marley quote: “You never know how strong you are until being strong if your only choice.”
Over the last year, I’ve continued my maladaptive behavior of overly leaning on others. And once again, I’ve been burned.
As a friend of mine says, we swing on a pendulum of opposites. Black and white. Hot and cold. Surrounded or alone. In my case, before I sought recovery, I leaned on no one and didn’t let anyone get close enough to really know me, to see the pain behind my eyes. I didn’t know what it was like to trust anyone, but myself (and even that relationship was far from honest). I wore an armor so thick that, at times, I could hardly find the “real” me beneath it. She very nearly disappeared before I gave her a chance to be known.
In recovery, we have no choice but to ask for help, to grow a network of those with whom we can confide in. We unleash years of secrets, bare our souls so long hidden in the dark. It’s the most vulnerable I’ve ever been and it was terrifying. But alas, I did learn to trust others – a feat I never imagined possible. The more comfortable and safe I felt in the company of others, however, the less I felt capable of standing on my own two feet. I leaned so hard on others (and typically on one particular “safe person”) that the weight was too much for them. They had to let me go before their own feet began to sink in the soil.
It’s a lesson I’ve had to learn the hard way, the painful way. But I think I’m finally beginning to understand. “Balance” has always been such an ambiguous and elusive word for me. It’s been a mythical state that to me, felt inaccessible. But I believe I’m getting closer.
In the sudden removal of the ability to lean on one person, I’ve been forced to lean on myself. It. Has. Been. Terrifying. But you know what? I’m still fucking standing. Somewhere in the last few years, I’ve grown some strength of my own. Like a little girl without her training wheels, I’ve finally found steadiness inside myself. That seemingly-illusory idea of balance may actually exist.
Sitting with a friend yesterday, verbally processing the painful detachment I’ve felt over the last couple of weeks, I came to the realization that I am, indeed, okay. I may even, dare I say, be strong. I’ve never felt such gratitude.
I’m strong. I’m strong, because I have to be – but that doesn’t mean I can’t celebrate the hell out it. And I certainly intend to.
Love and hope to all still struggling.
Write to Live 