Becoming a Strong Woman

Michelle Walker

I always knew that a woman needed to be "strong", but my interpretation of "strong" was distorted. My first impression of a strong woman was my mother, Uyen Pham, a Vietnamese immigrant whose life and circumstances determined how she would live and relate to others. It was through her example that I learned "strength". My mother had to be strong when she immigrated to the United States, knowing next to no English, with only an elementary school level of education. She met my biological father and married, pregnant with my brother at the time. She had to be strong when she, while pregnant with me, was abandoned and left alone to care for her children. From this point on she maintained a "strong" front. Despite her efforts this front did nothing to protect my brother and me from the abandonment she felt, for it carried over into the lives of my brother and me. She had to be strong when she took on the role of sole provider in my family, had to show her strength to never again be hurt or abandoned as she had been, but, in our case, forfeited a relationship with her children, while showing her "strength". She was unable to show love or affection; she did not show weakness or cry. This, I was sure, showed her strength. My mother was prepared for anything because she had been through so much. She was prepared to leave, if things got too rough, rather than let someone else leave her again. I carried this image with me growing up, and until only recently, did everything in my power to become the "strong" woman I saw growing up.

For years I lived with the rejection that stemmed from a father who had left; the pain of a mother who was not there emotionally or physically; and the disconnectedness from a brother who would fall into the very same emotional isolation that I had chosen. I was so mistrustful that I never allowed myself to fully enter into any kind of relationship and never allowed myself to be vulnerable. I chose to be "strong", in the sense that I felt I had to do everything on my own, that I didn't need anyone, nor could I depend on anyone or ever fully trust anyone. I was independence in its most corrupt form, independence that ultimately gave way to depression. I felt empty and looked to everything possible to fill the void. I drank, did drugs, cut myself, slept around, all to find answers to why I couldn't love, to understand why I had all this anger in me. I felt I could somehow fill the emptiness, when in reality each thing I turned to led me further and further down the path of depression and self-destruction.

No one knew that I would cut myself because I hated myself. No one knew that I was depressed. The façade I maintained allowed me to live the lie my mother had for so many years, the lie that being strong meant never letting anyone in. I was a scared, bitter person masquerading as a strong, self-reliant woman. When you try to contain everything, pretending everything is okay, it eats you up--and when you live each day with it, you soon forget that there's something wrong, and your depression becomes your way of life.

While living away from home during my first year of college, the lie I had lived was exposed. I turned to a higher power to show me that I could be free, free from my addictions, my self-hatred, my depression. Once I realized this, I could no longer continue as before. I had to make a conscious decision; I could no longer rest passive or complacent. Would I remain in bondage to my past, a victim of my circumstances? Or would I deal with the pain for the first time, allowing myself to be vulnerable?

I chose to begin the healing process.

It was not easy to let God into my life. It was not easy to let anyone in. I had built walls, strongholds, in fact. My pain, addiction, depression, frustration did not disappear immediately, for they had been with me so long, and proved a formidable foe. But I took the first step and soon, they no longer had power over me. I chose to draw from another source, a source that could not be depleted. I chose to let myself be honest with others, letting my weakness be exposed, that I might become truly strong. I chose to forgive those who had hurt me and asked forgiveness of those whom I had hurt. I chose to live a new way, leaving behind the bondage that also held my mother, the bitterness that never let her cry, never let her show how much she loved me and my brother.

Only now, at the age of 20, through God and many people around me, am I able to recognize and heal from the effects of growing up with a mother who had had little emotional involvement with her children. The image I had built in my mind of what I was to be like as a grown woman was based on my experience with and my perception of my mother, a woman always prepared for someone to leave, or escape if things got to hectic--not the woman I am or want to become.

Now I live a life free from depression, free from addiction (besides caffeine, which I will attribute to our capitalist economy:), and free from my past circumstances. All families have their problems, and there are no excuses for the wrongs that, especially children, have to go through. But we must ask ourselves: will we choose to be imprisoned by our circumstances and let it affect our relationships and our future families? Or will we chose to rise above our circumstances, and become all that we were meant to be? I could very well still be depressed, struggling with addiction and insomnia, but I am not going to let my past circumstances determine who I am. I am not going to let all that I didn't have determine my future or cap my potential. I am not going to be limited by what others have said about me or what is expected of me. I will not allow the failures of parents or authority figures to determine who I will become. I will no longer pretend to be strong when I am in pain. I will no longer attempt to do it all on my own. I am no longer slave to addiction or obsession, but free to be the strong woman I am meant to be. I will not live in fear of the truth, nor will I strive to mask my true self. I will not live with pain and hide it. No woman should.

I live honestly in the present moment, bravely facing what lies ahead, complete with new understanding of what lies behind me, though no longer subject to the past. I am becoming all that I am meant to be, and therein lies my strength.

Note:
I do not blame my parents for the circumstances of my life or their own. I didn't keep track of all the wrong so that they could "pay" for all they did to me, but I did have bitterness stemming from the lack of affection I experienced. I know that they, too, suffered a great deal. But I do not want to repeat their mistakes. Unlike them, I will not remain a victim of circumstance and allow pain to rule my life or rob me of the life I now live.

If you wish to contact Michelle Walker, E-mail chell_walker@hotmail.com