The Weak Link
Yesterday I was talking to a friend about the roles of men and women…how many people are confused about where they belong and where they fit into a relationship.
I wrote this about a year ago because, in my family, I’m considered the sissy…the total girl…because I don’t do what everyone else does.
“Your family is one filled with strong women,” I was told.
“I am the weakest link,” I thought.
I was born to a family of hardy and stout western women for whom no challenge is too great, no fear unconquerable.
I am the sensitive one who would rather not pick up a nail gun, carry heavy loads of whatever, or even be the center of a party. Instead, I would rather sift soil between my fingertips as I lovingly plant a honeysuckle, go to a concert, or write a play.
I can do all of the things they do. I could. I’m not as physically strong as they are but I could still do it if I chose.
In addition to being physically strong, they are incredibly intelligent and beautiful. They are all comfortable with their places in life.
I, on the other hand, question myself hourly, if not minutely. I am rarely sure of myself or my actions even when I seem most possessed of self-confidence.
I’ve been told I’m brave because I’ve traveled by myself extensively and lived through some truly horrific experiences. I don’t feel brave, though. I often feel scared, alone, and very often, lost.
I don’t come from a family where those feelings are regarded as normal. I’m supposed to be stoic.
But I’m not.