Resilient

"Hoh yeah - tough broad."

I can't remember all the details of the conversation, probably because that one phrase wiped out everything else that was running through my mind at the time. I looked around to the firefighters I was talking with and said, "That's how you see me?" He must have seen that this disturbed me, and attempted to explain further: "Well...strong jawline...the way you take control...tall...confident...obviously what you've been through..."

I have started to see very clearly what this job has done to me in terms of how I am perceived. If I understand comments like these to mean that people look up to me, I can accept that in the following respect: I like to think that my life could be an example of a quietly determined and honorable healing. What I like less and less each day is the unspoken and unofficial requirement that I be tough, that I be fearless, that nothing bother me. I don't enjoy having to play hardball with obnoxious patients. I don't enjoy being looked at curiously when I hold someone's hand, brush hair out of a face, shed a tear, or talk spiritually. I am not a tough broad. Tough is the last feeling I own for myself. I'm just a woman who does what she does because she cannot see someone in need and not respond. A woman who wants to be allowed to feel and allowed to cry.

I brought this conversation to Lorrie, a co-worker and trusted friend; we both struggle with this. I asked her how she sees me, expecting the standard answer: strong, courageous, confident. Instead, and after some deep thought, she gave me resilient.

Yes! Resilient! That's a softer word, somehow. It implies not so much hardness, fight, and struggle, but more of a valiant humanity.  A quiet determination to not give up on myself and to not lose hope.  That is a label I can work with!