Why the strongest, bravest person you know probably doesn’t need to be told that.

I have thought a lot about the words ‘strong’ ‘brave’ and ‘wise.’ Loaded words that have been floating around me since adolescence. I have been told by countless people, older, younger, peers, teachers, therapists and relatives, that I am some variation of the strongest or bravest person they know, an old soul, incredibly wise for my age, etcetera etcetera. 

I have always had a knee jerk rejection to these statements. When I was younger it bothered me because I didn’t feel strong and I didn’t feel brave, and any wisdom I supposedly had didn’t serve me, it seemed to only get me into trouble or conflict. 

 Nowadays I am acutely aware of my innate strength and bravery. It has been within me since I was small and I have cultivated, stuck to and expressed it relentlessly- particularly through my teenage years. I struggle with the contention now, because... I know. But telling me isn’t helpful. 

I sense that people name my bravery, strength and resilience specifically, in part because I am young (I think sometimes that people are trying to articulate that I make them hopeful, that my ability to continue to exist helps them see their innate ability to continue and persevere) and in a larger part because I don’t live a subtle existence. I can maybe point to my neurodivergence or to my innate curiosity and burning internal drive for justice for this lack of subtlety. I can walk towards fear because I want to, because my desire to do what I feel is right surpasses my fear and need for personal safety.  

I am strong because people see me as having gone through a lot and perhaps, I have, but maybe I have just expressed it and spoken more openly about these things than others do. If you look at the statistics, or if you speak honestly to the people around you, the banality of violence and abuse is abundantly evident. I would be shocked to meet a woman or queer person who hadn’t experienced some level of sexual violence (and to be honest, this probably applies to all people). I would be shocked to meet someone who experienced teenagehood as a boy or man who hadn’t experienced a level of physical violence or abuse. We were all once the children of parents and given this indelible power imbalance, have experienced varying degrees of emotional, psychological and physical violence. 

I am aware that I am a remarkably resilient person. I have experienced the same amount of trauma that we probably all have, interpersonal and structural. I have navigated violence: verbal, emotional, physical, sexual and the impact of systemic sexism, ageism, queerphobia and carcerality. It does take an immense amount of bravery to navigate these things and maintain hope, stay grounded in a sense of self and firm in my values and core beliefs the world. 

But I don’t think I am unique in these experiences. 

 An unfortunate fact about our shared humanness is that we are incredibly good at hurting each other, and we do it all the time. We have all experienced some degree of interpersonal violence, and we have probably all caused varying amounts of harm to the people we love. I know that I have.  

Violence is incredibly banal. It happens all the time, indiscriminately, though our individual intersections and experiences of structural and systemic violence often inform the amount, degree and acuity of the interpersonal violence we experience. 

We exist within a deeply oppressive structure. It’s difficult to name the biggest umbrella of systemic oppression but I would probably name it as Eurocentrism and white supremacy, colonialism and racial capitalism. This upper structure stems into patriarchy, heterosexism, queerphobia, transphobia, ageism (encompassing both the oppression of children and older adults), ableism, racism, colorism and carcerality. We all suffer, immensely, under these structures and systems to varying degrees, and I would contend, it is these structures that provide the environment for, and manifest in the kinds of interpersonal violence and harm we perpetuate against one another.  

I believe it takes monumental amounts of bravery and strength to exist within a system that, at its core, seeks to dehumanise, destabilise, isolate and abuse. It takes just as much courage and resilience to survive and navigate the personal violence and abuse we all experience.  We all adapt, resist and survive in a myriad of unique, incredible, creative and painful ways.  

My issue with my bravery and strength being named lies in the assumption that we aren’t ALL remarkably brave, strong and resilient; the sentiment feels like it disregards the universality of harm, violence and trauma. Another large part of my discomfort is that these statements are often said in place of genuine offers of support.  

Recently, in articulating my fears, anxieties and the anticipatory grief I felt about moving away from Melbourne, I was met with the assurance that “you will be fine, you’re the strongest person I have ever met.”  

These moments of disclosure and vulnerability were not a contention that I didn’t know of my resilience or didn’t know that I am brave and capable of doing difficult things. I was asking for support. I was asking for recognition. I was asking for care. Instead of curiosity “what feels the scariest for you?” or support “is there any way I can alleviate some of your anxiety?” or solidarity “when I am scared and overwhelmed, I find XYZ helpful?” I felt placed on a pedestal. It felt as if my innate bravery, wisdom or strength immediately discounted my vulnerability and indicated that I can persevere without support and community.  

I am writing this because I don’t think individual experiences of strength, bravery or wisdom will get us, collectively, anywhere. Community, support and care will. Individuality is a primary manifestation of capitalism and structural oppression in wealthy, western countries. We take pride in our own abilities and name them as ours before we see them reflected in the community and world around us. We unknowingly (and knowingly) compare and rank ourselves against each other.  

I heard countless times in the lead up to my move that some “would never be able to do that” or “would never be brave enough.” I don’t doubt that those feelings were true, but I don’t believe there is anything specific to me that has enabled me to uproot my life and face something that scares me. I think those qualities are innate to humanity and I see them reflected in every person I know. I want us to be able to see these reflections and move towards a way of relating to each other that doesn’t rely on rankings and comparisons, that veers away from individuality and recognises the humanity and universality of our uniqueness and diversity.  

I hope that no person is too brave, too strong, too good, too evil, too weak, too kind, too organised or too wise to deserve support, connection and community. I hope that we are able to recognise vulnerability, and in that, the full swathe of human emotions, not as signifiers of individual weakness, or as a moment to affirm individuality but rather, a moment to connect and lead with curiosity. In these moments we can weave a blanket of support that holds and honours our mutual vulnerability, persistence, strength and our human need for closeness and interdependence.  

To sum it all up.  My strength and bravery mean nothing without yours. My strength and bravery have nowhere to go if I am not held and supported by community. My strength and bravery are indicative of the ways in which I have been held, the ways in which I have been able to coordinate community and the ways I have seen myself mirrored in everyone around me. I think we will only be able to deconstruct the violent oppressive structures of our society together as a strong and interdependent community, and only after this, be able to disentangle and refute the ways violence and harm show up on an interpersonal level.  

So, don’t tell me I’m brave, I know I am, and I know you are too. Don’t tell me I’m strong, I know I am, and I know you are too. Don’t tell me I’m wise, I know I am, and I know that you are too. Tell me you understand and that you see me in all that I am, tell me you see yourself in me and myself in you, tell me you’re there, that you’ve got me, ask me how you can help and tell me how I can help too.