"You're stronger than you think."

I was sitting across the table talking with a dear friend when she said, “You’re stronger than you think.”

Immediately, those words arrested my attention and caused a momentary lapse in all brain function.

Wait…can that be true? Because I don’t feel strong. I feel weary. I feel like a failure more often than I like to admit.

I wanted to stop those words from making their way into the recesses of my heart, because they felt like a dangerous contradiction. For the past two-plus years I’ve been swimming in the weakness, the low energy and the lack of motivation that follow in the wake of a significant, life-altering, painful event. Internally, it’s felt like my strength was bulldozed and pulverized. And although there’s been healing along the way, the repair to my self-esteem has been v-e-r-y slow.

After I was pushed unceremoniously out of my job - after being bullied, rebuked, and silenced - I’ve been struggling to find my equilibrium. Even more, I’ve been struggling to find my way back to myself.

Who am I? Am I strong or weak? Am I principled or am I the problem they tried to paint me as? Am I someone who speaks truth or someone who makes mountains out of molehills?

Looking back, I know the strength I showed in the months leading up to my unexpected last day on the job was real. I know it was. It surprised me how bold and steady I could be in heart-wrenching circumstances. I did everything a strong person would do in that situation: I called out intimidation and manipulation. I stood with a harmed colleague. I notified the right people in authority. But when the fallout came (and believe-you-me, it always comes), I was the one left holding the butt of the joke.

Turns out, no one actually wanted strength from me.

No one wanted the truth - though they pretended to at the beginning.

No one wanted to own their part of the leadership failure, or was interested in personal and professional growth.

They only wanted me to be quiet.

And that’s the joke that everyone in the room understood, but I missed. I believed the people I’d respected and admired shared my values. I thought they were committed to growth and health. It turns out they were only committed to protecting the institution and the people most valuable to that institution.

So even though I was strong during the months of advocating, urging for accountability and praying for restoration, the moment it was all said and done, that was when the weakness seeped into every cell of my body and every part of my spirit.

The fallout kicks you in the gut, right where it hurts most: in realizing that there are limits to how far you can push yourself for the sake of what’s right, fair, or necessary. In realizing that character only takes you so far in the game. In realizing that one abusive environment can drop you to your knees so fast your character barely has time to catch up.

In realizing at the end of the day your character was tarnished because you used your voice, instead of being silent.

So to hear someone speak words from a different perspective - to point out a strength I’ve overlooked in the aftermath - for someone to say, “You’re stronger than you think”?

That kind of rocks your world.

And it means even more coming from someone who has walked the entire journey with me, who knows the ins and outs of it all. Who’s seen me at my most courageous and my most spiralling. Someone who has the perspective I need right now as I enter into another year.

As I was in the middle of writing this post, another friend called to talk about ministry planning. I didn’t mention the earlier conversation, the one that had stirred up all these thoughts I’ve been writing. But as we were getting ready to say goodbye, she said almost in passing, “Belinda, you’re running strong. You’re ahead of the pack.”

Two friends. Two voices.

Maybe strength shows up differently on the outside than it feels on the inside.

Maybe I never really lost myself. I just needed friends to remind me who I am.

Borrowed Strength
     When I look back, I
     see strength on the outside, but
     feel the cracks inside.
     Something strange was left
     in its wake - bewilderment?
     Second-guessing who
     I am? Between the
     rock and the hard place, I hear
     you urging me on.
     I must borrow your
     strength until mine comes back. It
     may never be what
     it was - but it will be.
     Again.