On Strength and De-legitimizing Pain and Abuse

When people find out about the things that have happened in my past or the struggles that I have had with mental illness, I often hear that I am a strong person. These are compliments. Sort of.

When those around me believe I am strong, I think, there is a subconscious level of permission that they give themselves to not worry about my emotional state when they do and say things. That if I outwardly emoted all that was within, they would feel compelled to be kinder, more sensitive people that thought through the words and actions that they chose when it involved me. Or, they would avoid me all together because my emotions would make them uncomfortable. This is the ultimate paradox that is only amplified when you are in an abusive situation or scenarios that cause consistent emotional pain. 

I had a situation at work a few weeks ago where I was bullied after bringing a comment to light that I felt was inappropriate or something of note. My character was called out for bringing it up, as was my mental health and my ability to properly emote in the workplace. After all the things were said with no witnesses, I was complimented on how strong I was. On how I could overcome the things that were roadblocks in my life...when I learned how to pick my battles. I got teary in that room, but I did my best to compose myself...thus being branded even LESS capable of behaving properly in the workplace. I told myself to hold it together, to keep my strength because it defined me at that moment.

See what happened there? Because I was strong, someone thought that they could say whatever they wanted to me. Someone abused me and then complimented me on how I could take the punch. Should we have to take the punches in the first place...even if we're capable of recovery?

I was talking with my ex-husband last week and I brought up part of my past where my first boyfriend raped me. He stated that he didn't know that and seemed astonished to hear it. I am pretty positive that I told him, but ultimately...it doesn't matter if I did or not. I mentioned that I stayed with that boyfriend after it happened and that it wasn't particularly a proud moment in my life, so I didn't share the story very often. I also didn't feel the need to fraternize with other rape victims to heal, so it wasn't something that I dealt with in a way that a lot of other rape victims did. Anyway, I could tell that his demeanor changed. As if, he softened to the way that he talked to me because he knew a piece of my trauma now and it changed the way that he though about me, even if he didn't realize it himself. I thought briefly about if he would've treated me the way that he did during the marriage if he knew (or remembered) this part of my life? If he would've held me in different regard when he acted the way that he did in the last months of our marriage? Would he have actively tried to remove himself from the long-ass line of men that have been nothing but abusive disappointments in my life?

Why does it take a trauma to change the way that a person interacts with another? Why does compassion come from a place of "discovering" someone's hardship? Does reverence change, and if it does...why...and should it?

When I shut down "Frou Frou Shit," and started, "The Brilliance of Resilience," I remember being so encompassed by the phrase. That I was brilliant because I was resilient. That I was beautiful because I was strong. That when I succumbed to my suicidal thoughts and drove myself to the hospital previously, that I was weak, but that time is over. Truthfully, I am beautiful all of the time. That being transparent about strength and weakness is beauty. That the ups and downs will be, and giving myself the permission to understand them is where the real resilience lies.