Strength
Self-control without self-sabotage.
There is a brewery not far from where I grew up that once hosted a “strong man” competition. Men drank beers, lifted rusty cars, and rolled giant logs across muddy ground. There was even a portion in a tent that involved a chainsaw. I went with my father who got a kick out of it, and because I was with him, I did too.
For most of my life, this is how I saw strength. Brute force, grit, endurance. To be strong was to tough things out in silence. To have a stiff upper lip. I was the exact opposite of this. My wildly sensitive and emotional disposition failed me often, and I only saw myself as strong when I could play it cool, ignoring the fires raging in my soul. Years of being told to control my feelings without learning a safe and healthy way to express them led to a constant simmer of anger with untimely boils.
It also led to a relationship that exploited this part of me. Immediately, there was conflict and immediately I ignored the inner voice inside of me that told me it wasn’t right. Disagreements and arguments were constant. My big boiling feelings clouded my reality and I couldn’t see the damage being done. Relationships were work. This must be the work. I must be strong.
But I wasn’t strong. I was triggered and angry and confused and a shell of myself. Arguing felt like stepping into a whirlpool, trying my best to swim until I didn’t know which way was up. I could continue to flail and fight knowing that I would always be wrong, or I could succumb to “I’m sorry” and float. I floated for years.
When I began learning tarot, the Strength card fascinated me because of its femininity. It depicts a woman taming a lion, showcasing the kind of strength I’ve only recently begun to cultivate. In a reading, it calls you to honor your fire, your emotions, and your feelings in healthy ways. It’s gentle self-awareness, heart-led maturity, and self-control without self-sabotage.
When I was a pre-teen, I’d play Sheryl Crow’s “Strong Enough” on repeat and belt it at the top of my lungs. I identified with this grown-up lady a little too much. I, too, thought that it would take someone really *strong* to love me, to understand me, to “handle me”. Turns out, that was true. But the Strength I was looking for was in someone who has done the work to tame the lion in themselves as I have. Someone who knows when to fight, when to surrender, and when to process on their own. Someone as safe as I am. And if you’re reading this, you deserve this, too.
