The Myth of the Strong Woman

I was talking with my ex-sister-in-law the other day and she was telling me of her neighbor and she said, "she is not strong like you and I, she is a weak woman." There was a time in my life when being called strong was a compliment. But that time has passed. I remember before I married being told, "Laurie, you are the strongest woman I have ever met." Even back then it was no longer a compliment and my reply was, "but, I don't want to have to be anymore." I learned to be "strong" to survive if that's what you call learning to shut up and handle business.

I was not a person growing up, I was an object. Let me just interject right here, "fuck you Billy Baker, Norman Chenowith, Ed Weeks, Scott Miller and grandma Mozelle." Fuck you all for making me "strong". As a very young child I was angry and wanted to fight back but I found it was easier to just give in and be "strong". I was told everyday of my life for as far back as my memory serves that I was a bitch by my grandmother. It finally took root at 7 years old when I woke with my 17 year old stepbrother Billy in my bed that it must be true as before he left he told me the same thing. "You can go to sleep now bitch." Thanks Billy, that's mighty kind of you.

This is however what has made me successful in business. Why this uneducated, barefoot, country girl has been able to achieve titles such as "Program Director", "Executive Assistant", "Program Administrator", "Director of Safety and Compliance" and "Director of Operations". I have never in my life been handed a job or project either professional or personal that I said, "I can't" or "I don't know how" to. If I have a job to do, I do it. I hear and have heard for years, "Laurie will make it happen", "Laurie can do it", "Laurie, you are the best", "Laurie, what would we do without you?" It is not because I want to excel so badly that I have become the "go to girl". It is because everyday that I get up and look into the mirror I have to prove to myself that I am not a bitch, that I am not stupid, that I am not worthless. Everyday I battle the demons inside me that tell me that I will never be good enough.

That's right, I can handle it all, I am a strong woman. 

You know when someone asks you, "how are you?" Everytime you respond, "I am fine, thank you. How are you?" Probably half of the people you ask are not fine but we all know that the person asking would hate if you told the truth. People are not comfortable hearing of others pain. When my son died, my best friend never even so much as called, my mother did not come over and when I walked down aisles in the grocery store in my small town, people turned and walked the other direction. They didn't know what to say, so they avoided me. My son died and I was friendless and alone. I was strong though, I packed up his things, only allowed myself to cry three times, once at the time of his death, once while packing and once at his funeral. I braced myself and did not want to cry at his funeral and I thought I could get through it without crying but when I saw his tiny casket, I let a few tears slip. I was careful not to break down though because I didn't want to make anybody there uncomfortable.

If you are reading this, it is making you uncomfortable, I am sure. Nobody wants to know these things about another person. It is like a car wreck though and once you look, you have to keep looking and so, here you are reading about me. 

Molestation and physical abuse as a child definitely make people uncomfortable! God forbid a child should talk about that. Especially when it is happening in their own home or at the hands of a well-respected deacon in their church or someone that is to be trusted, like a grandmother.

Rape is another taboo subject. I think the veil has been lifted somewhat in recent years but in 1982 it was not something you spoke of. Only two involved, your word against his. Women were counseled to just keep quiet rather then go through the trauma of a court case. Which really worked well for me because as I said, I learned early to keep quiet. Nevermind the physical evidence, the bruises, the missing chunks of hair, the missing fingernails, ripped off from hanging on so tight to your pants while they are being jerked off that when they finally come lose they take your fingernails with them.

I attended the same church for ten years during my first marriage. I played the piano, I led worship, I taught children's church, I helped with the youth group, I led women's seminars for groups of up to 100 women teaching them how to be Proverbs 31 women. I wanted so badly to be a good wife and mother. My church had become as close to me as family. When I suddenly found myself single with 5 children, the youngest only 8 days old, not one person from the church, not even my pastor paid me a call or spoke with me to see if I was okay. I can't fault them. What do you say to someone in my position? Someone who dedicated her life to being a good wife only to have the police come and arrest her husband on 72 counts of rape. And here, I always thought the abuse he put me through was special - just between the two of us. They didn't know what to say and they all assumed someone else had called. 

I am not writing this for sympathy, I am writing because these are my thoughts and I find it cathartic to write. 

I don't want to be strong anymore. I want the luxury of being weak. I crave the treat of being able to cry freely. I covet the ability to lay down at night and just close my eyes and sleep. I so desire the ability to look in the mirror and see someone worthwhile looking back at me.

In the meantime, everyday I get up and set out to prove myself again.

People tell me I have a great personality, that I am funny, charming. The jokes I tell are not for you. They are for me. As long as I keep joking and smiling, I am strong and as long as I am strong people enjoy my company.

The strong woman is a myth. She doesn't exist. The strong woman is a woman hiding her pain.