Jaime Lazaar ’24
Weakness
It’s okay to be a weak person. There is nothing wrong with pushing yourself to be better. To become stronger. But in our society, there is such a heavy emphasis on needing to always be strong, while those who are weak get left behind. They are scorned, overlooked, and discarded. Many are quick to say, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” For some, this is true. But few acknowledge that the opposite is also true. As digital creator and lawyer Joanne Molinaro says, “Sometimes, what doesn’t kill you, can actually make you weaker.” Some pains are so unbelievably devastating that the scars left in their wake never truly fade. When strong people persist and overcome the obstacles created by traumatic events, they are praised and offered condolences for having risen above their pain. But when the people who are weak of heart are unable to conquer and absolve themselves of their trauma, they are shamed and reprimanded. It’s as if their pain is only valid if they have overcome it. Because how dare you allow your pain to make you weak? How dare you not rise above it and become an inspiration for others?
*
I am a weak person. I feign strength. I cry easily, but I don’t ever let it show. If you think you can hurt me, you probably can. But you’ll never know it. Throughout the past couple of years, I’ve learned the hard way that the world doesn’t take kindly to those who are weak of heart.
*
I’ll never forget that day. I had just returned home from school. It was my freshman year of high school, and I was exhausted. I was overwhelmed with work, and I was failing geometry. But I had a performance that night, so I’d been trying to push away those thoughts for the time being. I need to get ready, I’ll worry about geometry later, I told myself. I had barely entered my bedroom when my mother burst in. She had gotten a call from my geometry teacher. Just great. She was all up in arms over the fact that I had only completed half of the previous night’s homework. In a weak effort to avoid an argument, I denied this. I knew exactly what she’d say if she knew the truth. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to take it. I am a weak person. But my denial only led to my mother demanding that I show her this homework or else she’d go through my backpack herself. After a brief contemplation, I obliged, and showed her the homework myself. Unbeknownst to my mother, the only reason I agreed to show her the homework was because there were pains in my backpack that I didn’t want her to see. The uneaten lunches, the notes I wrote to myself detailing how badly I wanted to die. Over the years, I have had to learn how to conceal my many pains, because my pain makes me weak. This is what you learn when your mother considers your weakness as a personal failure. And god forbid anyone outside the family become aware of this failure.
As expected, my mother was not pleased to see my half completed homework. She berated me for my failure and it did not take me long to break down. I am a weak person. There was no time for me to conceal my pain. I fell to my knees and hung my head low. I had to confront the situation head on. In between sobs, I begged for my mother’s understanding. I unloaded some of the things that had been weighing on my heart to her. Not everything, just a taste. Just to test the waters. I couldn’t be sure that it was safe to unload everything I’d been feeling all at once.
I was right.
There was no yelling, and the berating stopped. If my bedroom wasn’t carpeted, you could have heard a pin drop. I slowly raised my head to face my mother. Her face wasn’t one of sadness, or even of anger. It was a face knitted with disappointment. This face continued to stare at me for a few moments. I waited for it to scream or scold. I waited for it to do anything at all. But the disappointment did not leave. It was my mother who left the room. Leaving me to be comforted by my bedroom carpet and the sound of my sobs.
*
My mother taught me how to be small. I was confused because I’m already five feet tall, how much smaller could I get? But then I realized she didn’t mean small in size, but small in spirit. I am polite to a fault. I let people cut in front of me in line without protest. I never talk back. I apologize even when I’m not the source of someone’s distress. My mother taught me to make myself small. She taught me to take up less space. But then she is disappointed to find that her small daughter has become weak. I knew it was too much to ask for my mother’s understanding, but even then, I had had the smallest hope that staring at the broken frame of her daughter on her bedroom floor might invoke the slightest sympathy. But my cry for help went unheard. It was that moment when I first learned that the world does not favor the weak.
*
More often than not, we gravitate to characters that are so unbelievably strong and exude unfathomable power. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t done so myself. This is part of the reason why certain anime and Marvel characters are so popular. It’s fun to watch these powerful characters clash and go head-to-head. But powerful characters can manifest in a number of ways. Strong characters aren’t always the ones who can defeat an enemy in a single punch or manipulate time, space, and reality.
Strong characters can also be the ones who consistently overcome their obstacles, regardless of what those obstacles may be, the ones that never let anything get them down. These are usually the types of characters we resonate with, the ones we admire and look up to, the ones we want to be like. I say this because lately, I’ve noticed something interesting in regards to the characters that do not fit this bill—the weak characters. Not characters that are poorly written, but those that are weak of heart. These characters may be wonderful people otherwise, but should they succumb to their pains and anxieties, should they act on their emotions, or dare to be too vulnerable… You’d think by the way the fandoms treat them that they had committed mass genocide or another unforgivable offense. (Bonus points if the character is a woman.) The same can be said for the real-world’s treatment of weak people. Life imitates art after all.
There is no industry marketing how to become weak. It is quite the opposite actually.
The weak of heart are not easily forgiven for being weak-hearted. We are shamed, shunned, and our cries for help often go unheard. Instead of being met with empathy, we are told to get over our pains. Other people have it worse, and so we should be able take the hurt that comes our way. When we cannot, we must mask these pains, hide them away where no one can ever discover them. This is the only way to avoid judgement and disdain. I wish I could say that the aforementioned situation with my mother was an isolated incident. But time and time again, she and many others have proven that there is no room for the weak of heart in this world. That, to borrow another turn of phrase, we are much better seen, and not heard.
*
I am a weak person. I do not say this to put myself down, but as a proud declaration. If there is no room in this world for the weak of heart, then we must simply make room. Pain is an intrinsic component of life. It is nothing short of unreasonable and cruel to insist that we must conceal our pains as if they do not exist. People are inherently valuable, regardless of whether their pains make them stronger or weaker. The weak-hearted deserve just as much acknowledgement and understanding as the strong.
I am not a strong person. I have always wanted to be, I’ve tried to be, but I am not. But if in order to become a strong person I must forsake the weak, then I shall remain a weak person. My pains may make me weak, but they also make me patient, considerate, and understanding. And I will take those qualities over being strong any day.