I am stronger because I had to be. I’m smarter because of my mistakes, happier because I’ve known sadness, and wiser from all my lessons.
I get tired of being told I’m strong. I wasn’t at first, but when you’re given no choice, it’s what you become. I didn’t choose marriage—though maybe I did. I ignored the red flags and jumped headfirst into the flames. That was an epic fail from the start. It changed me. Stronger? Debatable. But definitely more cautious. I didn’t choose to have a child who was disabled, but it happened, and I figured it out.
I’ve been jumping hurdles my entire life. I may look like I’m wearing a suit of armor, but I can assure you I’m not. Inside, I’m usually a quivering mess. I wear my armor and my mask in public so no one sees the real me—the one who can’t handle a hangnail, yet somehow maneuvered through the medical system when I was told my son wouldn’t live past a year. A rare genetic condition. I wasn’t strong; I educated myself on how to be the best advocate I could be for him.
Through him, I learned to appreciate the little things. A flower picked and handed to me by my daughter. A trophy my son brought home after a soccer playoff. A simple smile from Rowan—huge, because he had minimal muscle control. I’ve learned to enjoy these small things because that’s what we’re given: lots of small things to do with what we choose. Smiling through the sadness that seems to be the hand fate has dealt me.
Homeless? I made jokes about being a gypsy and enjoying the freedom. Inside I was screaming, No. This can’t be it. This can’t be what I was destined for. Losing everything I owned to a heartless junkie con artist disguised as a friend. On the outside, I said it was just things or only money. But it wasn’t. Those things were me—my paintings, my poems, the quilt I made. All the pieces I created when life felt good.
But now I’m smarter and much wiser. Trust? A thing of the past. I used to give it freely; now people have to earn it. Happiness? I make my own and stopped expecting anyone else to be in charge of it. Sadness? I’ve cried so many tears over the decades that I don’t shed them anymore. I smile and make jokes to make the weight feel lighter. Mistakes? I’ve made more than I can count, but most I won’t repeat. I’ve learned my lessons the hard way. I’ve seen rock bottom, and I’m using my smile and my writing to crawl back onto the landscape.
Stronger, smarter, and wiser? Yes—because I had no choice. Mistakes? I’ll make more, but I make decisions more carefully now. I don’t jump in with the enthusiasm of a child anymore.
Some days the truth feels heavy. Today it just feels real. I’ve handled worse.
K.
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I'm Still Here. Somehow... 