Brave

I hate being labelled “strong”. It has a not so great connotation. It implies I’ve got it all figured out, when in fact I’m watching it all fall apart in a well-orchestrated sequence.

I’d rather be referred to as brave. It means I am trying. It says ‘I am treading forwarding regardless of the mess I am in’, because that’s what I do each day.

Each morning I lay awake with my eyes closed; meditating. I then ask God for courage to see the day through. Some days I wake up and my heart is shook with anxiety, I try to keep still, fearing moving might cause my heart to stop. I also try to recite anything positive that might get me out of that trance state.

It’s a mental war. Who I am fighting against? I don’t know. Maybe it’s all the attacks I’ve had to face before, trying to get me from within my head. This is why I have to find something positive to say to ‘them’, I can’t let ‘them’ have a say in today.

Or is it the trauma? Maybe.

Now, I ask. Where’s the strength in that? To me it’s just bravery. It’s constantly forcing through all the pain, the fear and everything else that might be thrown at me for the day. I say for the day because each day has its own.

I am very scared to own the label strong. I don’t want to be over confident and this is because I’ve been hit too many times to assure myself strong.