Believing in yourself is the first
Step to building strength that doesn’t rest.

Then, listening to others, not needing
To participate, unjudgemental, hearing
What others need, interject, harboring
Your doubts and advice so as not harming.

Speak my mind, state my faith,
Being proud of my achievements whose breadth
May seem unimportant to others, but their breath
Is my motivation to stretch abilities in depth.

Faith and belief are the core
Of my power to never bore,
As I know their roots moor
My might within a mind who’s dire.

My scars, those that society frowns
Upon, are my badges of honor, survivals,
Will, and mind over matters
That seem trivial in light of my powers.

©️ Malak K C ©️

Growing up in the 90s and early 2000s, one of my favorite shows that I’d watch with my parents was Xena: the Warrior Princess. I remember staring in awe as Xena single-handedly defeated her sworn enemies. She represented everything I wanted to be.

Attempting to find a show to entertain myself with, I came across my beloved childhood show. I excitedly pressed play. However, not even five minutes into the first episode, I thought “man, this show kind of sucks.” My childhood show had unexpectedly lost its former glory, replaced with sharp criticism and sudden unmet expectations.

This change of perspective bothered me. Why was I now seeing this show with very different eyes?

The swords Xena wielded felt as though they had pierced right through me. I couldn’t shake the feeling of discontentment. I dug a bit deeper, and arrived at a very honest realization that perhaps it wasn’t the show I was unsatisfied with; I was unsatisfied with myself.

I hadn’t become this strong, independent woman, worthy of admiration. I was nothing like Xena. I stumble over my words when I speak up for myself, I’m scared of driving and turbulence on flights, and there’s been more times than I’d like to admit where I’ve stayed silent in the face of disrespect and humiliation. On top of it all, I barely know any proper self-defense, much less how to wield a weapon.

It wasn’t until a recent therapy session where I told my therapist that ‘war coursed through my veins’ – something I had begun to say recently – that I would soon form a new perspective. My father escaped the Salvadoran civil war in 1989, for a chance at survival and a better life in the US. The war devastated him, our family, country, and the Salvadoran diaspora that followed. Yet, deep down, I was unironically proud of this fact; I was certain that if my dad could survive a war, so could I. Strength meant knowing how to survive war.

As this story unraveled during therapy, I continued to talk about my dad, then mom and older sister.

My dad was recently diagnosed with stage 3 cancer. As a family, we’ve had to come together to not only support him, but also each other. I shared that I had my first heart-to-heart with my mom at the age of 27, and she at 61. We cried atop her kitchen counter over a shared bottle of wine, as she opened up about her childhood, and I opened up about mine. For the first time, the compassion I felt towards my mom turned into empathy. Life felt fleeting and full at that moment; we both silently acknowledged that our time together was finite. What my mom had lived through and what I had endured wasn’t easy. Yet, sharing our burdens slowly filled our cups with strength.

My older sister flew in the week prior to my dad starting chemotherapy. Her and her husband had previously gone through this process with their daughter, my niece. My older sister and I share the same mom, but different dads; she is fourteen years my senior, and we grew up in different countries. Yet, there she was sitting across from me, in the numbing waiting room at the hospital on a gloomy Monday morning. We patiently waited as my dad underwent a procedure where he had a port inserted inside his chest; we discussed that they would eventually use that same port to intravenously inject chemotherapy drugs into his system. The all-too-familiar lump formed inside my throat, but this time, it was different; it was full of grief. I began to cry, perhaps because the port had become a physical representation of my dad’s cancer, or because the dam that I believed to be neatly packing away my emotions violently burst after holding everything in. I had refused to cry in front of my parents in an effort to ‘be strong’, and had held my tears back since the diagnosis. In my despair, my older sister shared the story of an incident that occurred during my niece’s treatment, one that she hadn’t shared with me previously. She told me that during one of her chemo sessions, they realized that the treatment hadn’t gone as planned, and that they’d have to come back for another painful round the following day. After learning this, my sister broke down. She shared that my niece had never seen her cry in the 2+ years that she had battled cancer. Upon seeing my sister cry, my niece desperately bawled between breaths, “I’m going to die!”. At that moment, my sister quickly responded with “I’m not crying because you’re going to die; I’m crying because you’re going to have to come back again tomorrow.” My sister said that my niece then cried out, “oh no! I’m going to have to come back tomorrow!”, and for a fleeting moment, the short-lived laughter washed away the tears in the room. Sometimes, strength doesn’t come from holding back tears, but instead embracing each other in them.

As I shared this with my therapist, after a pause she said, “You come from a strong line of women.” An audible silence followed; no one had ever stated this to me before. I took the time to let this statement soak in, and acknowledged that I do come from a strong lineage of women, and that strength lies within me.

I’ve now come to make peace with the fact that my strength may not look the same as Xena’s – and that’s okay. Strength has shown itself to me in so many different ways; surviving war, embracing vulnerability, and learning it’s okay to cry. Right now, strength remains in staying hopeful throughout my dad’s cancer treatment.

I’ve learned that my strength doesn’t just come from me; it’s been passed down, through the line of people that come before me. They are my strength, and I am theirs. This is what makes me strong.

To Whom It May Concern,

Anxiety forced strength into my veins
Shooting in like a drug until I became
Addicted
Young army brat, only child
Made to say goodbye to friends
Who filled my latchkey lonely existence
High school lunches in the library
Not a winner at popularity
Accused at home of acting like a
Queen
Crying inside, always wanting to
Scream
(but I can’t seem to catch my breath)
College dropout, waitress, single wide, marriage, one kid, two kids, divorce, living with parents
Epilepsy
Teachers and classmates who do not…will not try to understand
Advocate for my child
Student, graduate, renter, work
Still looking for my self esteem
It’s not lost though
I never knew where it was
In the beginning
Bad relationships because I sure as hell don’t deserve better
Bought a home
Two. Doors. Down. From. My. Parents.
Surgery…the doctor said it was my hormones…it would resolve itself
Nothing in my life resolves itself
Surgery, surgery, surgery, surgery, surgery, surgery, surgery, surgery…I lost count and want to forget
Ran into my husband’s groomsman
At the store, in my sweat pants, unwashed hair, aging face, extra pounds
Must be love
Blended family, blended home, blended personalities
Four Teenagers, no one with Epilepsy anymore…puberty can be a blessing
Tears, misunderstandings…puberty can hurt
Always love…love can hurt
If you allow it
I always do
Moved 1325 miles to a home rented over the internet
Unpack, explore, smile in sunshine
Angry parents still in the cold
I feel it from here
Home foreclosed
Made to move again
After four months
Then again
And again
Another time too
But that’s not the last
Finally, a home
With our name on it
Knee replacement, prescribed myself whiskey for pain
Still a good decision
Soul piercing anger from a family member, changing me, charging me from the inside out
I am spent
Parents still angry, unafraid to tell me how much
If I don’t contact them, they can’t cause as much pain
Blood relatives mistake my silence for guilt and judge without
Even. Asking. Me. Not. One. Word.
I have one cousin now in a sea of DNA
I can’t swim
One day, the anger, anguish, frustration…whatever it was…overflowed in the brain of my parent, spilling enough that a truck was parked in my old high school parking lot and a gun was drawn and fired and breathing stopped and the other one blamed me on my social media and my head hasn’t quite stopped spinning since that day…and…I wish I could make it
Slow down so I can catch up
Love came in the form of elderly dogs who need hugs and kisses
So we give it to them, over and over and over until our home is full of
Fluffy little ones with cataracts, blindness, deafness, worn joints, disintegrating spines, bladder issues
One of the best decisions we’ve made
Hurricane Ian was a direct hit
Our home has a hole in the side, ceilings are missing, we watched them fall in
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
It concerns me
I could be weak, sometimes I am
But I am also strong
So strong
I am immeasurable
Because I find a way
(the hidden path)
Love,

Dear Gerald,

For a long time, you felt that out of all the attributes you had, being strong wasn’t a part of that list.
You saw other people as being strong like actors who played strong characters in movies, musical artists who looked like they had overwhelming strength in their image, or just family members and kids you knew who seemed like they had a lot of power & strength inside their bodies.

Meanwhile, you had a hard time believing that you were or could be strong. The self-doubt, insecurities, low self-esteem, and overthinking clouded you from seeing how strong you were all along.

It can be challenging to see your strength when you’re surrounded by people who undermine or don’t appreciate it. Thankfully, you can see more clearly that you’re a strong person.

What makes you strong is your willingness to have empathy for others when you could have given up on that a long time ago. Your inner drive to empower others as best as you can also make you strong.

The fact that the inner pain that you have been wrestling with for years didn’t drive you to the grave makes you strong. The will to keep fighting for a better life every day makes you strong.

Your increasing drive to try new things makes you strong and writing this letter makes you strong also.
You don’t feel strong all the time. But acknowledging that takes tremendous strength to do. Plus it gives you the peace that everyone needs in their life.

Everyone is strong in their unique way. It’s great to be reminded of that fact every now and then.

Sincerely,

Strength it seems cannot be seen.
It floats, it sinks, it rises Supreme.

Appearances will seldom show, the strength and power of a true, pure Soul.

What makes me strong is not my size, is not the muscles in my arms or thighs.

There is one muscle which I have strong, it is my heart, which sings its Sekhem song.

Humming softly to my head, to keep the faith and Rise instead.

Sinking we will only do, to dive the deep; and Ascend higher, whole and true. ~ © 2023, Danielle, #DAMCL ™, @DsEnlightenedEdits ® 𓌂𓋹