Back when I was younger, I eventually thought that I’d be tougher.
Somehow.
And I don’t mean this as if to say that I am not tough or that I have never been tough at all.
No, I can say that there were spurts of toughness and acts of mine that were the toughest of all because, above all, my acts were true, same as all of this is true – or at least this is true to me.
However, and in fairness, being tough can come in different forms. To be honest, sometimes the toughest thing to do is to be yourself.
The toughest thing is to do this or to be “us” without dressing up as someone else.
We live in a very social world. It’s true.
There is influence around us at all times.
But not all of our influences are helpful.
For example:
I used to think that being a man meant that I had to be strong.
I thought this meant that I can lift heavy things or that I knew “the answer,” or if I don’t know “the answer,” then being a man meant that I could find the answer or figure it out.
Nothing can be beyond my reach.
Nothing can be beyond my control.
A man knows how to figure things out.
And maybe I can – figure anything out, I mean.
(Sometimes)
I used to believe in the statement that men are not supposed to cry – even though, deep down, I knew that I cried.
I tried to hide this fact, but yes, I cried.
I tried to “Play it off,” so-to-speak, or “act as if,” or I posed and pretended to act like I didn’t care – but guess what, I do care.
I always have and I always will.
Men don’t cry.
But I cried. I cried all the time.
I still do. I cry all the time. And that’s good because one of my friends used to call teardrops our liquid prayers.
Liquid prayers, huh?
Maybe . . .
Never let them see you sweat.
Keep your cards close to the vest –
Or,
You have to bury that shit, deep inside.
Keep it in the dungeon.
Take the pain and lift your chin.
Endure it –
I used to think that this is what a man would do.
I used to believe that I was not allowed to show my true side or my soft side.
I believed this because the moment I do soften or let someone in, what would happen if someone infiltrated my heart and settled in enough to see my truths – or made me weak.
I wanted to be strong.
I’ve always wanted to be strong – if not, stronger.
I have been hurt in my life.
I have seen awful things.
I have experienced loss.
I have cried and wept and bled and ached and pained.
But – never let them see you sweat.
Isn’t that right?
Never let the me in, so-to-speak.
Bury it.
What a joke!
I never allowed myself the occasion to be pure or wholesome because in my best estimation, what happens to the nice guy?
Niceness gets mistaken for weakness. No?
Nice guys finished last. Isn’t that right?
I am not sure where this access to misinformation began nor am I sure how I allowed these ideas to grow as big as they did.
But they did grow big. Huge, in fact.
I’m not sure if this was trauma based or fear based.
I am not sure if my version of life or should I say, “the deception of my perception” became such a torture that I sunk deeply. I gave in to a belief system that was based on irrational fear.
So, therefore, I did whatever I could to protect myself – and think about it . . .
No one wants to be the odd one.
No one wants to be picked last or not picked at all.
No one wants to be left out, unloved or unwanted or even worse; no one wants to be unnoticed or unremarkable.
But that was me – at least to some regard.
This was a challenge I had with an internal judgment.
We all want to be wanted and sought and desired.
However, my fears were the amplifier of an inner monologue or otherwise known as that inner voice or self-talk.
We want to be loved and welcomed and above all else, we all want to be accepted.
We want to be comfortable in our own skin.
We want to think, feel and believe as if we are beautiful or special.
And we are. All of us are.
Trust me.
You, for example – there is no one in the world as beautiful as you are.
There is no one in the world as special.
There is no one in the world that can take your place or replace you as a person.
You are totally, perfectly, absolutely and uniquely beautiful.
I believe this.
I believe this because the same as I was unaware of what it meant to be strong or tough; I also had an inaccurate version of the word beauty – or to be beautiful, what does that mean?
What does it mean to be such a presence in the room that as you walk through the door, there are people who smile – simply because you came in or walked through the door. To be honest, the world is a better place (because of you) and to me, that’s beautiful.
No one in the world has your ability.
No one else can sound like you sound or say what you say. While, yes, I grant that not every person is a match; not every person has a personality that fits with mine – the luck of the stars has afforded me the experience to know that there are beautiful people in this world – and the bizarre thing is, sometimes, even the most beautiful are unaware of this.
They are unaware of what they do for the world.
They are unaware of how precious they are. To me, it’s amazing that people this beautiful cannot see themselves as the angels that they are.
In fairness – I can say that I have met tough men. I have met physically capable men. I have met dangerous people and those who would be judged by their appearance as monsters. And sure, maybe they did look or appear to be monstrous – but I knew them differently.
I knew about their truths. I knew about their hearts and yes, I knew about the deeds they did to overturn the harms they performed – so that they could repay or place what was lost or stolen, so they could create a spiritual sense of both personal and interpersonal restitution – so that in the end, they could be better and so that lastly; they made a change so they could make peace with themselves because they finally realized they have nothing to prove to anyone.
Not anymore
And to me, that’s what it means to be tough.
Don’t cry.
Take the pain.
Suck it up.
And keep going.
I suppose that some of this is right to say.
Keep going.
I think this is great advice.
I think this is the best advice above all because when it comes to pain or problems of the heart; or when our soul is weak or when our hearts are breaking – the idea to keep going is so far-fetched at best yet somehow, we manage to get through.
It’s amazing too, what people can do or how we can endure or get by – even when we think we can’t endure anymore or get by another day – somehow, we still do.
So I ask –
What does it mean to be tough?
What does it mean to be strong?
What does it mean to live and if anyone can tell me, then answer this too –
What does it mean to be true to oneself and to be true to our hearts and true to our goals, true to our dreams and honestly, what does it mean to hold strong and not give in, or to not relent. What does it mean to wake up, dress up, show up and at the end of the day, what does it take to see your face in the mirror and come to a constructive conclusion, no matter what?
What does it take to find balance?
What does it mean to exceed oneself or exceed beyond our limitations?
If we have challenges; if we have chaos or crisis; what does it take to go beyond this?
What does it take to give oneself the permission it takes to get up and move on or to move forward?
When is it your turn to have the life you want to live?
When is it your turn to give yourself the permission it takes to make this so?
And see?
These are all valid questions to me.
Sure, this is subjective. But I’m sure this is relatable.
I want to improve.
I want to be better.
I don’t want to be tough anymore. I don’t want to hide my thoughts or bury my feelings.
I don’t want to live in fear of exposure or weakness.
I don’t want to live in fear that perhaps I am stained or tainted, unwantable or unlovable, or worse than all of this – I don’t want to consider myself as ugly or unsightly.
I don’t want to try and be something that I’m not – because the truth is, I’m not tough.
I’m not strong. I’m only me.
I am a person with thoughts and ideas. I have hopes and dreams. I have aspirations. I have memories and pains and secrets from my past.
I have traumas and unresolved stressors which I am working on here and now, just to be better.
I have a heart. I have a soul. I have feelings too and emotions.
I have ideas and suspicions, intentions and my own interpretation of the world around me.
So?
What’s the point of this?
How does this belong in my prose from the bucket list?
Well – the answer is simple.
There’s no more hiding. There’s no more reason to cover myself because I’m afraid to be seen or to be noticed or recognized for being me (As I am).
I cannot live in fear. I cannot worry about the world around me.
I can only live. I can only be honest and true.
I cannot allow myself to sink or drown in the cesspools or the emotional quicksand that pull us under.
To free myself, I have to be myself. And that’s my item on today’s list.
That’s what it means to be tough.
To be honest; to be true to oneself; to be humble and modest and rather than being loud or pretentious to protect myself behind an image, I want to be brave enough to call myself out and say this is me – deal with it!
That’s what it means to be tough.
Last night –
There was an issue in the City. This was right outside of the building where I work . .
There were police buses and worries about a riot and violence, which it was smart to prepare for but in all honesty, the news likes to report things in ways that build fear.
I don’t think the protest was too bad.
Although, I will say that I did wonder a few things like what would happen “if something happened?”
If this were to be my last night on earth, then what?
If something “went down” in the City and I was there, then what?
I don’t want to leave anything unspoken or unsaid.
So, let me say this.
Let me be me and say this humbly and honestly
just in case the ability to tell you this is taken from me,
at least you have this here . . .
Just so you know and just so we’re clear
I love you.
This is what it means to be tough.
The Written Addiction 