Yesterday, my sister reminded me that she’s strong. I used to think the same thing about myself, so I understood what she meant. And she does look strong. She’s the woman you’d call in an emergency, the woman you’d ask for help, the woman you see surviving impossibly gut-wrenching situations. But since I’ve survived grief, I no longer think I’m strong.

One of the many shocking surprises of grief for me was discovering how fragile I am. We all expect grief to hurt, but none of us understands how broken we can feel until we’re punched by grief. It pushed me dangerously close to the edge of the world. Maybe some would call me “strong” simply because I didn’t entirely fall off that edge but that’s not how I see it. It looks more like that fragility was inside of me all along and grieving was the thing that made it grow.

It’s not entirely bad to recognize your own emotional frailty. It’s honest, and it means you know yourself better. Feeling fragile is not a weakness; it’s an acceptance of the truth. If we pick and choose the parts of us we approve of and deny the rest, the abandoned parts won’t disappear; they’ll just never get released where they can be put to rest. Insisting that you’re strong in the face of big grief is a commitment to never feeling better. The sense of strength comes after you let the scary feelings out. They need to be acknowledged before they can retire.

I still see my sister as strong. It’s a little bit of a facade we all agree to go along with. I also know she’s capable of surviving on the other side of pain, after she acknowledges the screaming fears that cause her—and all of us—to tell the world we’re strong. It’s hard to be supportive to a strong person. The one who admits they’re suffering, and that they don’t know what to do is the one we can rush to support. Saying I’m scared is an invitation to those who love you. Saying I’m strong is a closed door. Be willing to acknowledge your fragility. And if you’re standing outside a closed door, be there when it opens. You can remind someone you love that you were once on that side too.

More:

Creating A Place To Comfort Grief

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