“You are such a strong person.” This is a compliment I have often received from people close to me and acquaintances with whom I share parts of my life journey. This compliment frequently comes when I share the less rosy parts of my life, such as my experience living with scoliosis and the consequent invisible disability, going through gender-based violence, or generally some form of pain or traumatic experience. I know it always comes from a good place, yet it leaves me with lingering questions.
“Why does trauma or pain need to be a source of strength or resilience?” Is strength only born out of pain? Is it possible that we have ignored some healthier, better, more sustainable sources of strength?
Generally, we have subconsciously placed trauma as a prerequisite for strength. To some extent, the things that cause pain are seen as necessary in the journey to be strong. Black women, for example, are perceived as strong because they endure discrimination and disenfranchisement in their everyday realities. Survivors and victims of gender based violence are applauded for moving on from the trauma they have experienced. People with disabilities are seen as strong when they navigate an ableist world that is set up to make their lives more difficult. While the strength of people in these categories is true, I always feel some darkness underpinning the acknowledgement of their strength.
I do not seek to invalidate those who have overcome pain and emerged stronger, including myself. It is instead questioning what we use as measures of strength and how these shape the kind of experiences we permit to exist. We have all probably heard the phrase, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’ It is a strong reflection of the myth of strength, how we glorify resilience that is bred by trauma. It made me realize we have a problematic perception of strength and resilience.
One of my experiences with this warped understanding of strength and resilience is my journey healing after being sexually and physically assaulted. While this immense pain has had me praised for my strength, my experience was one of isolation. From the moment I struggled with victimhood to the point I accepted I wasn’t to blame, the entire journey was isolating. I was disconnected from others and myself in ways that matter most. Ranging from nightmares to fear of connection or interactions with others, I felt like I was drowning. At no point in my journey did I think that I was strong. Instead, I felt broken and alone.
My perceived strength was, at best, performative. More than anything, I wanted to go back to before I needed to be strong, back to when the world was a kinder, more trusting place. I was suffering in ways I cannot fully conceptualise. The worst part of it was that what was considered resilience was years of negative coping habits. I understood the pain of being a ‘strong black woman.’ My strength was pain as I was trying to navigate life without crashing from the weight of trauma. Glorifying pain and suffering hid a lot of my suffering, and the physical and emotional toll led me towards burnout. Fighting for my life through disability, victimhood, and discrimination only wore me out. While I was gaining ‘strength and resilience’ on the outside, inside, it was all coming apart. Thoughts of despair plagued me, constantly wondering why I had to experience such extreme pain to be strong. To some extent, I resented being strong and resilient. The performance was exhausting as it masked the reality of my pain. It also prevented me from getting the help I desperately needed, as to the outside world, I seemed to be doing fine.
As someone who exists at the intersection of all these issues, I have ‘earned’ the label of a strong person. Unfortunately, it has been forcing me to try and thrive in a world that seems to have given up on fixing these issues. It seems that we have collectively concluded the world is a terrible place. Since nobody can fix it, we have to survive it. Strength is therefore measured by how unbothered we are when bad things happen to us, how we hang in there, or how we rise from the chaos that we have had to endure. This is what bothers me so much. I wonder how we can ever create a better world if we consider some of the bad things necessary for building resilience and strength.
In my musings, I am often curious if I would be considered strong if I had not undergone and ‘overcome’ the pain.
Is it possible to gain strength and resilience from tenderness, from kindness and safety?
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Even in physical strength, the most outstanding people are considered those who push their bodies to the breaking point. I have always been fascinated by Simone Biles as a gymnast, but also as an all-around icon. She withdrew from the 2020 Tokyo Olympics mid-competition, and many critics saw it as a sign of weakness. Some went as far as calling out her arrogance for taking for granted getting to such a feat and giving it all up for mental health and other ‘personal reasons’. In the end, she came back at the 2024 Olympic Games in Paris and did an outstanding job- she was strong....