Brave, but bruised

I heard the song “This is Me” from The Greatest Showman recently. I’ve heard this song 1,000 times before. But this time, a particular line jumped out at me:

“I am brave, I am bruised, this is me.”

I thought about how true that statement is in my life. My life requires bravery in a way I wasn’t prepared for—when I advocate for my sick loved one, when I say no when I want to say yes, when I ask hard questions I don’t want to know the answers to, when I make decisions that hurt like hell and when I admit I need help. I put on a brave face for my kids even when I’m crumbling inside and I put on a brave face even though I don’t know what hardship tomorrow may bring.

I might look brave to others because I fight for my loved ones. But most people don’t see the days that bring me to my knees and leave me bruised.

Another symptom or decline {kick}.

Another hospitalization {kick}.

Another loss of independence {kick}.

Another day of shouldering burdens alone {kick}.

Another grief-filled conversation about life 'before' {kick}.

Another med, another specialist, another moment of watching my loved one struggle because the body he lives in is failing him {kick, kick, kick}.

Yes, I am brave. But I’m also bruised.

This is me.