Please Stop Telling Me How Strong I Am... I'm Not

CatKBorn

Please Stop Telling Me How Strong I Am... I'm Not

CatKBorn
I really wish people would stop telling me how strong I am -- I would rather someone just gave me a hug, told me it was going to be okay, and then stepped up and took care of everything.

Because you see, I'm not strong - not really. I studied acting, my family is rich in New England stiff-upper-lip-ness -- I am REALLY good at masking. REALLY good at shutting of the emotional and stuffing it into a box on a shelf in my mental castle. I did it when my husband died suddenly and I had to deal with the first funeral I had ever attended -- planning it, deciding everything, and living through it. I shut off the emotional part of me and dealt with it.

That isn't strength in my book -- it's denial. It's unfeeling. Meanwhile everything inside that box on that shelf is screaming bloody murder to get out -- to scream, cry, and destroy something. But I can't let it out.

Real strength would let it out, let it wash over me and embrace it.

Yesterday, Mom was breathing poorly and looked a little panicked so we went to the ER. They admitted her. Pneumonia (via aspiration). Today, was a flurry of social workers, palliative care people, therapists and tests. The chaplain, the palliative care worker, the social worker, the nurses.... all kept telling me how strong I am and have been.

I wanted to scream.

When Mom is discharged, she is going to the care facility. She isn't coming home.

She didn't get to open her Mother's Day card.