Sick of Being Strong

Sick of Being Strong

In the wake of Mother’s Day, I’ve been thinking about the way we praise mothers.

The cards.
The gifts.
The sweet little sayings.

“You are so strong.”
“You give so selflessly.”
“You are a gift to the world.”

And listen, darling.

I understand the sentiment.

I have been a mother for a long time. And even before I was a biological mother, I was rescuing chipmunks and squirrels, playing endlessly with dolls, and babysitting like my whole identity might be measured by the quality of my bedtime storytelling.

I adore taking care of people.

I adore loving on them.

I adore making their days special.

But I am sick of being strong.

My husband, in all of his thoughtfulness, gave me a bookmark for Mother’s Day. And truly, it was sweet. I love to read. He knows that.

But the message on it was all about the strong woman.

The woman who gives selflessly.
The woman who is bold.
The woman who is courageous.
The woman who hopes when things look hopeless.
The woman who is a gift to the whole world.

And I know he meant it as love.

I really do.

But something in me just sank.

Because I don’t want to have to be strong all the time.

I want to be soft.

I want to be cherished.

I want to be cared for and carried when I’m tired.

And my friend, I am tired.

I don’t want to give selflessly.

I want to receive in honor of the self I have worked so hard to protect.

I don’t want my boldness to be treated like a cute little personality trait.

I want it to be respected.
Expected.
Trusted.

I don’t want to be praised for hoping when things look hopeless while everyone else stands around waiting for me to carry the emotional weather of the room.

I want people beside me who understand that hope is not my private assignment.

It is something we build together.

Because here’s the part we don’t say out loud enough:

A woman’s gift to the world is not her willingness to disappear.

It is not her ability to keep giving while pretending she needs nothing.

It is not her capacity to make everyone else feel safe, loved, celebrated, organized, remembered, fed, soothed, and emotionally held while she quietly wonders when someone is going to notice she is running on fumes.

Her gift to the world is her wholeness.

Her aliveness.

Her fully expressed self.

And I am not interested in a version of motherhood, womanhood, or leadership that requires women to be endlessly capable and quietly depleted.

Yes, of course I can carry it.

Many of us can.

Backwards.
In high heels.
With snacks in the bag.
And someone else’s feelings in our hands.

But capability should not be confused with calling.

Just because a woman can carry the emotional labor of an entire family system does not mean she should have to.

And Mother’s Day should not be the annual celebration of how beautifully women relinquish everything all human beings deserve to feel:

Worthy.
Powerful.
Cared for.
Dignified.
Held.

There is a way for men and women, partners and families, mothers and children, to coexist in shared power.

But it does not come from applauding inequity.

It does not come from romanticizing selflessness.

And it does not come from calling a woman strong when what we really mean is:

Thank you for needing so little while giving so much.

No.

Not anymore.

Let the mothers be strong, yes.

But let them also be soft.

Let them be supported.

Let them be adored without being assigned more labor.

Let them receive without having to earn it through exhaustion.

Let them be human.

Fully, gloriously, inconveniently human.

That would be a gift worth giving.

Dedicated to Saying the Thing,

Julie