THE BOTTLES

The number of prescription bottles on my bathroom counter is shrinking, one by one slowly being retired into my drawer in hopes of never being seen again.

There were more not that long ago. In a journey to navigate debilitating neuropathic pain many medicines were thrown my way. Take more of this one. Stop that one and try this instead. Maybe this one is worth a shot? Go get to know your pharmacist a little bit better.

Sigh.

Strangely these bottles have been a great source of guilt for me, a monumental reminder of defeat. Superwoman is weak, they have screamed, don’t dare look her way.

But why?

Had our positions been reversed, had I been your friend, standing shoulder-to-shoulder beside you in your bathroom as you struggled out of bed and endured searing pain to reach down and grapple with your socks, I would have spoken different words to you.

Look at how hard you’re fighting, I’d say. Look at the brave steps you’re taking to climb your way through this and continue to embrace each day. Do not forget how amazing you are, powerful one, your strength is not defined here.

Why is the voice inside our own head sometimes so much different?

In truth there are real chinks in our armor that must be addressed.  But not every set back, not every struggle, not every nagging voice that screams ‘we are not enough’ warrants such attention.

Not every ‘failure’ is a void in who we truly are.

Seen with clear eyes, those bottles on my counter were and continue to be a sign of my strength. Superwoman feels weak and tired and defeated, but she is fighting. And in fighting, she is soaring.

Which leaves the heart-searching questions - What accusations of weakness do we need to set aside? When one looks through a dirty windshield the whole world appears marred, but what is the real truth on the other side of the glass?

There is wisdom in weighing the thoughts of the mind, strength in allowing the emotion, allowing the feeling, allowing the wrestling and hurt and confusion, and then deciding what to do with it. There was mourning to be had in the betrayal of my body, the lack of basic ability I should have been able to take for granted.  There was a loss and those bottles served as my reminder that things were not as they were meant to be.

But those bottles did not define me, they did not dictate my strength, they did and do not speak to the very identity I have held from the beginning of time.

Brave. Powerful. One who was meant to change the world.

And neither do your nagging reminders of perceived weakness define you, neither do they wipe the slate of your heart clean of the words that embody your ultimate truth.

Brave. Powerful. One who was meant to change the world.

Superwoman, indeed.