A Portrait of Personal Strength (in words, not paint)

There’s something very important about me that I want to share.

Mostly i want to share it because I’ve realized just how important it is.

I firmly believe that there is a trait or quality in everyone in which lies most of their strength. For some people, it is patience. For others, it is courage, or self-preservation, or compassion, or even things like jealousy and pride. This “strongest trait” isn’t necessarily static. I’m sure it can change, and probably does change, for lots of people, throughout their lives and depending on their circumstances and reactions to those circumstances. (Mine just doesn’t change, for obvious reasons about to be revealed.)

There’s no real moral judgement on the traits until they are used. It’s all about how you use them that reflects if they’re good or bad.

And I’ve come to realize this because my strongest trait is my sheer obstinacy. I am the most stubborn person I know. I have lived a life of taking my stance and absolutely refusing to budge, even if it was to my detriment.

But this obstinacy has done so much good for me. Far more good than bad.

It kept me from suicide when I was younger and much more depressed than i am nowadays.

It got me to college. Got me to Oxford. Got me in a place where I could make true friends and learn what happiness was.

It’s helping me stop self-harming when I get completely overwhelmed by the emotional wreckage that is the innermost me.

It taught me that there’s always a way, and even though I’ve always got to take the hard way, that’s fine. There’s more a sense of accomplishment if you succeed going the more difficult route anyway. The lessons you learn stick with you better.

It’s made me determined to take the best possible care of myself, because yes, I’ve got a chronic illness, but medication will only mask the symptoms, not fight the as yet unknown cause, and so I don’t need them.

It’s made me strong enough to realize that yes, I can get through whatever life throws at me without compromising my values or my morality.

I don’t give up without a fight. A long fight. A struggle that can drag on, and on, and on, tear me down until I’ve used up all my resources, all my plans, all my spoons. And I learn through that. i grow through it. I learn what’s important, and I can live a life without regrets.

I am obstinate, often to a fault. But it’s saved my life. It’s shown me how strong I really am, and how strong I can be. I’ve become a better person, and I’m living better than I ever thought was possible. And I’m going to change the world.

I’ve been in a bad place recently because, in my stubborn quest for self-care, I’ve decided I’m ready to face my life-long anxiety and conquer it. Or learn to live with it. (That depends entirely upon the cause of the anxiety. If I let it in, I am going to get it out again.) And that’s hard. And terrifying. And frustrating, largely because there are severe communication difficulties between my counselor and I. But I’m trying and she’s trying, and that’s what matters.

I might have an anxiety disorder. I might not. Determining that point is trying. Especially since it almost constantly feels like something (the fear?) is behind me. It’s not just a paranoid feeling, like a fleeting, worrisome thought. It’s a visceral, spine-tingling, muscles tightening, breath hitching, heart racing, eyes-on-my-back feeling. But when I turn around to confront it, physically or in my mind, nothing is there.

It’s still behind me.

I can’t get away.

And that’s terrifying. I had a complete breakdown at my counseling session yesterday because of it.

That’s when my counselor asked me to reconsider medication. 

I will admit, I felt like she was giving up on me. 

And I couldn’t fully explain the root of my resistance to the idea of taking something for my anxiety. I could tell she was frustrated.

But I’ve got it in words now.

Ignoring my tendency to horrible side-effects, my doubts as to if it’ll work if my anxiety is caused by something I let in and not an anxiety disorder, and every other excuse I have, valid or not, taking medication before I’ve crashed, burned, hit rock bottom and climbed back out, only to do it a million times again… 

To give in and change my mind before I’ve reached the very limit of my desperation… 

That would be betraying myself. It would be undermining the obstinacy from which I draw my strength. I’d be shattering my own foundations.

And that’d be fine, if I was okay with rebuilding on a new foundation.

Except I’m not.

Cause I’m obstinate.

I like my foundation.

I am going to keep it.

So that’s me. Obstinate to a fault, but also obstinate to greater heights of determination and personal strength. I’ve finally figured that out, and it’s really liberating and empowering to finally be able to grasp that.

Everyone’s got their foundation, the place where their strength lies. And mine just so happens to be in my obstinacy. And I am completely okay with this.