Should I feel ashamed of my strength, my toughness, the tenacity that has saved my life again and again? Should I be embarrassed of the events and circumstances that have brought me to this place in my life? Should I feel less than beautiful because other people have told me that's what I am?
The trouble with being tough is this: how exactly has it damaged me? I know the benefits of being one tough bitch with a generous shot of dyke thrown in: I've survived mental illness, I'm raising a wonderful and well adjusted child, I have incredible friends and a good relationship with my family. I'm smart and sensitive, empathetic and understanding. I've lifted the weight of the world and not broken in half completely.
The damage, however, is the utter pain I make myself feel when someone else disappoints me. The damage, perhaps, is expecting others to be as tough and awesome as me. And the damage that is done to my heart when I finally let go of the toughness and trust another to love me is like a hot knife in the chest. Fear and pain corrupt me.
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