The Tao of Weakness

Source: Jon Anders Wiken / Adobestock

The soft overcomes the hard; the gentle overcomes the rigid. Everyone knows this is true —Tao Te Ching

“I’m tired of everyone telling me I’m so strong. I don’t feel strong; I feel weak, and I want that to be OK.” It’s been over 15 years since I heard these words from a cancer survivor while running a cancer support group. As a cancer survivor myself I understood her words. As a therapist, I understood the courage it took to say out loud what many of us, not just cancer survivors, hold inside.

As a gift on my 50th birthday, just after completing an intense course of both chemo and radiation therapies, I was given a T-shirt with the words, “I kicked cancer’s ass” on it. I appreciated the offering coming from well-wishers who supported me through the journey. However, I was never able to wear the shirt due to the feeling that I did not “kick” anything. I was, in many ways, lucky to still be alive after the open-heart surgery that began my cancer journey, and the follow-up chemo and radiation therapies. During the treatment phase I was quite noticeably weakened physically by the poisons being pumped into my body to stave off cancer’s return; mentally by the “what if?” questions running wild in my head; and emotionally by having the fear of not surviving as a constant companion.

Since my cancer diagnosis I’ve been with countless individuals who experienced all manner of challenges, tragedies, and traumas. As a result, I’ve witnessed countless attempts to “put on a brave face,” “stay strong,” and “keep fighting.”

This struggle between the opposing forces of strength and weakness has been central to my work as a psychotherapist and is ever-present in my current role as a psychological first responder providing psychological first aid (PFA) in the wake of profound tragedies. Responding after the mass shootings that took place in Virginia Beach and Chesapeake, Virginia, the Alt Right rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, and the events at our nation’s capital on the January 6insurrection, I saw firs-hand how such experiences open psychological wounds of vulnerability that many try to hide.

It's not surprising, given our culture’s “stand firm and keep your chin up” attitude, that after every mass shooting tragedy the “Strong” movement takes over. From banners, slogans, speeches, etc., the reflexive rally cry is meant to display a sense of communal fortitude in the face of extreme sorrow. As an act of defiance—refusing to let evil in all of it manifestations win the day—there is wisdom in standing up to senseless tragedies. While there is safety in numbers, though, individual healing may suffer from the stay strong myth.

Much of my PFA work involves interacting with police, fire, dispatch, and other emergency personnel and their ingrained stoic nature in the face of tragedy. In these arenas, where “suck it up buttercup” and “you ain’t hurt unless there’s a bone sticking out" are still part of the old-guard culture, I’ve found newer recruits yielding to the realization that the old way didn’t work for them. If this group, whose members routinely take on the challenge of meeting tragedy head-on, are coming to terms with the idea that “weakness” is not a character flaw but an indication of one’s humanity, why not follow their lead?

Many of the clients I’ve seen over the years come to therapy in what can be best described as a weakened state—beaten down emotionally, mentally, physically and, in some cases, spiritually by circumstances. With these clients I prefer the Taoist approach that “Whoever is soft and yielding is a disciple of life.” I prefer to aid them in being less like the “rock” of hardened resistance and more like the water of flexibility and softness that “dissolves the hard and inflexible.”

In keeping with the Taoist tradition of flowing with nature rather than working against it, most of my PFA responses begin with tears and a flood of grief. Interrupting this process with slogans that promote shutting down these natural expressions of traumatic stress can contribute to complicated grief, spiritual bypass, or even anxiety and panic attacks as the pressure of natural emotions press the dam of resistance.

Whether a community or individual grows stronger after experiencing a crushing event that shakes the very nature of what it means to be human will not be determined by how loud they shout but how quietly they go about tending to the pain and healing the broken hearts.

I said: What about my heart?

He said: Tell me what you hold inside it?

I said: Pain and sorrow.

He said: Stay with it. The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” ― Rumi

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