She told me that being strong meant to suffer.

 

And I couldn't possibly fathom her words,

What mother, after all, tells her child to suffer?

That to be a strong woman, meant I had to crawl all the way through hell victoriously

Covered in black and blue with too many broken bones and fractures to count,

And then, only then, would I become a strong woman

 

I thought she was joking.

 

Until I was forced on the journey to strength,

Not gracefully, of course,

Rather, it was like I was pushed down the side of a cliff with jagged edges and huge boulders

And told that the only way to go was up, up, up

With no climbing gear or any preparations

And if I tried to find a way around, there would be penalties which would lead to various consequences

 

I became a strong woman eventually

When the thought of hell no longer phased me

And I could stand on my own two feet when the world around me was crumbling

But even as a strong woman,

Even when I could take on anything,

There was one thought that began to haunt me,

"What if I want to be weak again?"

 

What if I wanted to be vulnerable?

Or have someone help carry my burdens?

Would I just have to suck it up?

And I hated this downfall

Hated this strength

For why did every woman have to gain it through pain?