Why Our Best = Our Weakest

We've been wrong all along...

If “God gives His toughest battles to His strongest soldiers,” what happens to the weak ones?

I began considering this question recently, when a very dear friend was confronted with tragedy. She inspires me, not when she bravely supports others, but in her moments of vulnerability.

We are conditioned to exalt power, always praising the “fighter”-- it’s embedded in our movies, music, stories, and legends. But, to me, weak is often the strongest thing we can be. And I don’t mean the fragility of fear and fleeing. Rather, openness makes us invincible--and its effects are contagious. When we honor our emotions and experiences, we allow others to do the same.

Perhaps my most compelling moments are those involving tears, profuse blushing, or extensive deliberation. It is when I told my childhood friend (now college roommate) that singing was my superpower--followed by a painful rendition of Rihanna’s “Stay”. It is the tear-stained note I left my brother when I returned to school, and the letters I wrote to a boy I thought I loved years ago.

It is when I peed my pants of laughter on a street, and let a volleyball hit me in the head on the first point of a game. When I think of when I’ve been most powerful, I realize it wasn’t when my (metaphorical) plate was fullest– instead, it was the day I admitted it was too much. When I told my mother on a plane things I had been too afraid to admit to myself, or bawled when my grandma (jokingly) said she "hopes" to live to see my milestones.

I am all of these occurrences, all of the time. In confrontations, confessions, and conversations, we are more vulnerable than we realize. So, if our weakness is freeing and ever-present, why do we fiercely reject it?

To my friend who wants to be strong, it is your weakness that is empowering. And, to anyone else reading, let us desensitize ourselves to the unfiltered. Giving ourselves grace and honestly is admirable, above all else.

Friends whose vulnerability inspires me