It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly...
-Theodore Roosevelt
I choke down my feelings and willing it to stay in my throat, out of the world, because once it escapes there is no telling what might happen. What do I think might happen? The world will end of course. Because how can anyone deal with all of my tears, my rage, my wounds, my complexity? How can the world love me if I’m not smiling and chipper and easy-going and breezy? We women have this demon that sits on our shoulders and whispers, “Don’t allow the facade to crack. Do it all and look good doing it. And for God’s sake, don’t be high maintenance! You cannot possibly ask for what you need.” We bear the weight of perfectionism, the expectation of sacrifice “for the greater good.” How utterly exhausting for us all. But here’s the thing. Our sufferings, our failings, our FEELINGS, they are not our weakness, but our greatest strength. They are courage incarnate. And they are what keep us alive.
One of my favorite things when I lived in Oklahoma was to go for long walks in the snow with my roommate. By the time we would get back home, our faces would be almost frozen to the point that we would have words in our brains, but we couldn’t really move our mouths to say them. Why did I love this? Because it made me feel so ALIVE! When it is bitterly cold, your breath catches and your blood pumps differently and you’re suddenly aware of every inch of your skin. It is a challenge for our bodies (especially my California/Filipina/tropical blood) to cope with the challenge of extreme cold. Just as when we are faced with challenges, sufferings, tragedies in life, it makes us very aware and thankful for what is working in our lives or what might need attention, and in the end, it makes us who we are.
When reflecting on my life, those moments when I was on the floor sobbing…and then got up to wash my face and brush my teeth, those are the moments that made me. They are what allow me to be present to the suffering of my kids and the people around me. Our reasons for crying are different, but our need to be held compassionately, is the same. And when you come out of the other side of utter despair and the crushing reality of life and you look at yourself, staring at your beaten and battered face, your shocking lack of composure; you pause and realize that this is why we are here. We are here to say goodbye, to be in the arena, to kick ass, to love with abandon and have our hearts broken because that is how we know we are alive.