This post originally appeared on my One Woman’s Quest in July of 2014 – just months into my journey with ME/CFS. Now approaching fifty-nine, I find comfort from the words written during such bleak times. The earlier post that is referred to is entitled “As A Tree”.
Meditating on the majestic beauty of the trees outside my window, I come to recognize something about myself. I cannot help but think that even though they are symbols of quiet strength, trees are not without their own vulnerabilities. Acts of Nature, or even human folly can bring them down, and so they, like me, are not immortal.
Perhaps none of us is meant to be an impenetrable force: the kind of force I aspired to in my youth.
You see, I always thought of myself as a strong woman, however; unlike the trees I contemplated in my last post, I was not flexible – bending graciously to the winds of change – but belligerent, resistant, and arrogant. I was a right fighter. Having grown up in an atmosphere of relentless uncertainty, I commanded myself to be strong, believing that with an iron will, I could gain control of life…
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