Could you tell me a time you felt strong?

What does being strong really mean? Psychically – being able to lift a heavy weight, run a marathon or finish a tough mudder? I will probably never run a marathon but I still consider myself to be strong, not physically but mentally. 

Three years ago, I was on cloud nine, I had just finished my first year of uni, I had a great social life and incredible friends. And we were off on an adventure, a month in South East Asia with my girls. We arrived in Thailand and we were having the most incredible time, we arrived in Phuket after a week in north Thailand. We had the best morning, bathed elephants at a sanctuary followed by a giant burger for lunch, I was having a great day. Until I wasn’t. I went outside our room, on to the balcony, to hang my towel out to dry, that is when the floor tile I was standing on gave way. Here is where it all gets a bit blurry, I won’t drone on about the drama, but I fell around 15ft. Not the best end to my day – I regained consciousness to a haze of faces and the sound of other people crying. I remember being so confused, however, after a terrifying ambulance ride and night in a semi decent Thai hospital I was released and sent on my merry way. For the remaining few weeks of the trip I was a tramadol filled mess. But anyway, back to your question – tell me a time you felt strong – well in the weeks that followed I was weak, physically I was so weak, but mentally I had to be strong. I was with my friends and I didn’t want to let anyone down or ruin the other girl’s holiday. So, I kept smiling, I kept pushing, I didn’t fly home early, and I tried to do all the activities we had planned. Maybe not my best decision making – but never trust the girl who’s on tramadol.  

But then I got home, the next year is when I learnt the meaning of strong. Being strong isn’t pushing down your emotions or ignoring your pain, but for months that’s what I did. Weekly doctors’ appointments with one thing leading to the next. I was in so much pain that the amount of pain-killers I took caused a stomach ulcer, and this caused bowel issues. Basically, I was falling apart. But I had just started second year and I wanted to be out having fun. I didn’t want people feeling sorry for me, when I was asked how I was I always answered with “its just a good story” or “it could have been worse”. I tried to hide the pain and I tried to keep it to myself. 

I started to slow down, and shy away from going out with my friends, because I knew I would be in pain. This led to me getting anxious in clubs, I was so fearful of the pain in my arm or back that I was scared just at the thought of it. This spiralled to me just not wanting to go out or having panics when I was in crowds or busy places. It took me a year to realise that just by talking about my worries made them seem so much smaller, telling my friends when I felt anxious or in pain lifted a massive weight from my shoulders. I wasn’t alone. So many people are anxious about a huge variety of things but by talking about it you can take the load off, a problem shared is a problem halved. 

Three years on and I can finally say I am and I was strong. It took me years to finally say, “yes it could have been worse, but you know what it is still shit and should never have happened to me”. For years my attempt at being ‘strong’ was just to hide it and pretend nothing had happened. So now I will quite happily say my arm is tired and I need to slow down. And personally I think that makes me so much stronger. 

Being able to admit when you need help is far more difficult than slapping a smile over your face and carrying on. I think in this day and age we need to stop the old British way of hiding our pain or worries. We need to talk about our issues, if you are ever mentally or physically struggling don’t think that by telling someone they will think you are weaker. You are so much stronger if you can raise your hand and ask for help.