Don’t Tell Me You’re Not Strong


'Strong as a Bull' photo (c) 2007, irene nobrega - license: said it.  I heard you.  But there is no way that you’re ever going to convince me that it’s true, so I don’t ever want to hear you say it again.

Don’t tell me you’re not strong.  

I don’t believe it.  I’ve seen you time and time again head directly into the fire to bring peace and comfort.  Weak people don’t run toward the conflict. It’s the strong that stand through the flames.

Don’t think that because you’re crying and I’m not that I am stronger than you.  She said it best: Sometimes we need to be the friend to cry with, and sometimes we need to be the friend to cry on.  Don’t believe for a minute that your tears are a sign of weakness.  Don’t believe that the lack of tears is a sign of strength.  Strength comes from deep within.  Sometimes it works its way out in salty tears from the corners of our eyes.  Sometimes it doesn’t.

Strength is bringing comfort when you’re just as sad or scared.

Strength is standing in whatever circumstances.  Especially those that make you want to lay down and give it all up.

Strength is believing and trusting in the Foundation that has already been laid out in front of you.

Strength is accepting that sometimes it’s just a lamp at our feet guiding us down the path and not the floodlight that we really want to use.

So don’t tell me you’re not strong.

Don’t believe the lies you’ve been told.

You, my friend, are strong.  Through your tears and through the fire you’ve been tested.

And you’ve stood.

So I never want to hear those words from you again.

Don’t ever tell me you’re not strong.


About the author