People write a lot these days about leaning into your feelings. About how it’s okay to not be okay. About how finally, finally, we’re all starting to get in touch with the many things that make us tick, and making more of a public showing of the process of figuring that out.

Yeah, by “people”, I of course mean me…or at very least I include myself in that collective. I can’t oversell how important I think this paradigm shift is. So much so that I ever so slightly hesitate to write this post, but, it feels like the right thing to say right now.

In an effort to rebalance the overly stoic nature of throttling our emotions, I don’t want to forget about a key component of that otherwise poor coping mechanism. Without this component, finally cracking open that overstuffed Pandora’s box might not even be feasible. So it’s a handy side effect of it all, really.

In case the title of this post didn’t give it away, I’m talking about fortitude.

I’m talking about having the balls to get knocked down over and over and fucking over again, and still feel like it’s worth it to get back up. Im talking about biting down hard and practically swallowing your tongue so you can just keep going. It’s about how they keep taking and taking, and you keep giving and giving, until you’re sure you have nothing left in you to give, and then you look inside a neglected pocket and find you still have just a little bit left over for yourself. I’m talking about taking every brick they throw at you and using them all to build a wall around yourself that can’t be scaled by their grappling hooks anymore, and a platform to stand on, one that’s high enough so you can see above the thick layer of their foggy bullshit. I’m talking about strength and bravery and all those other flowery words I usually hate being used in reference to my survivorhood, because they contribute to the surface level sympathy rather than deep-diving comprehension. At least the word fortitude gives an air of almost militaristic grit. It’s not just about being “strong”; it’s about being enduringly strong. It’s about being resilient. I haven’t just survived, I’ve endured, outlasted my trauma and found a place for it so it doesn’t rule me anymore. I may still be working through it, but I know that I can, and I will. Because at this point I have the fortitude to do so.

Nevertheless, she persisted, and all that jazz.

I’m glad there’s a lot more room for talking about pain and trauma and emotions nowadays. I don’t know how else to be, but I know that’s not the case for everyone. Lots of people are learning how to get there, on their own and with each other. Some people wear their pain like some kind of badge of honor, needing the commendations of their survival to somehow rectify the wrongs committed against them. (In my experience, those same people are often the ones who turn around and commit wrongs to others.) Frankly, I’d much prefer softness and support and a peaceful goddamned life, rather than praise for how well I can take a beating, but hey, to each their own.

Still, I’m grateful for my fortitude. It’s what keeps my peaceful life in place these days. Which is good.

Because I fucking earned it.