Grit: Don’t Let the Hard Days Win

 

People love the word grit.

It sounds strong, doesn’t it?

Like someone standing on top of a mountain, fists in the air, inspirational music playing dramatically in the background.

My version of grit looks slightly different.

It usually involves messy hair, a cup of tea, a child asking me where his shoes are when they are quite literally beside him, and me quietly wondering how early is too early to go back to bed.

But over the last few years, I’ve learned something about grit.

Grit isn’t about never falling apart. It’s about what you do after you do.

And believe me, I have fallen apart.

More than once.

There were days during Paul’s illness when I felt like I was holding our entire world together with duct tape, prayer, caffeine, and sheer stubbornness.

There were appointments, medications, children, work, sports, meals, laundry and all the ordinary pieces of family life that somehow don’t stop just because your world has been turned upside down.

Cancer didn't care that there were lunches to pack.

Grief doesn't care that there are bills to pay, emails to answer, children who need you, or a house full of things that apparently don't fix themselves.

Life keeps moving.

And somehow, you learn to move with it.

I Used to Think Strength Looked Different

I used to think strong people were the ones who didn't cry.

The ones who had everything under control.

The ones who knew exactly what to do.

I know better now.

Strength can be crying your eyes out and getting up anyway.

Strength can be admitting, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.

Strength can be sitting in your car for five extra minutes because you need to pull yourself together before walking into the house.

Strength can be making your children laugh while your own heart is breaking.

Strength can be asking God for help when you don't have the words to form a proper prayer.

And sometimes strength is simply making a cup of tea and deciding you'll try again tomorrow.

That's grit.

The Things Nobody Sees

After Paul died, there were so many things I suddenly had to figure out.

Things I never thought about because they had always just been his things.

Something needed fixing?

Paul.

Something needed drilling?

Paul.

Something around the house wasn't working?

Definitely Paul.

Then suddenly there I was, staring at a drill like it was some kind of advanced engineering equipment.

Apparently you just put the bit in, point it at something and hope for the best.

Who knew?

There was nobody standing beside me saying, "Here, give me that."

So I learned.

Not because I wanted to.

Because I had to.

And there is a strange kind of confidence that comes from doing something you were absolutely convinced you couldn't do.

You stand back afterward and think:

Well... look at me.

It doesn't mean you don't wish someone else was still there to do it.

That's the complicated part.

You can be proud of the person you're becoming while desperately missing the life where you didn't have to become her.

Grit Doesn't Mean You Don't Need People

This one took me a while to understand.

Being strong doesn't mean doing everything alone.

There were people who carried us when we couldn't carry ourselves.

Family.

Friends.

Teammates.

Neighbors.

Our community.

People who showed up.

People who prayed.

People who made us laugh when there wasn't much to laugh about.

People who stood beside us through illness and loss.

I will never forget that.

Because sometimes grit isn't finding the strength inside yourself.

Sometimes it's allowing someone else to lend you theirs.

And Then There Are the Kids

Motherhood doesn't exactly come with a pause button for grief.

Children still need breakfast.

They still need rides.

They still lose things five minutes before you're supposed to leave the house.

They still have practices, games, school projects and approximately 9,742 questions per day.

And thank God for that.

Because there were days when my boys gave me a reason to get out of bed when I wasn't sure I had one.

They needed their mum.

Not a perfect mum.

Not a mum who had all the answers.

Just their mum.

So I kept showing up.

Some days I showed up strong.

Some days I showed up exhausted.

Some days I probably deserved an award just for everyone leaving the house wearing shoes.

But I showed up.

That's grit too.

Grit and Grief Can Live Together

Grief has taught me that two things can be true at the same time.

You can be heartbroken and grateful.

You can miss someone desperately and still laugh until your stomach hurts.

You can feel completely lost and still keep moving forward.

You can be strong and still need someone.

You can have faith and still ask God, Why?

And you can build a new life while still loving the old one.

Moving forward doesn't mean leaving someone behind.

Paul is woven into who I am.

Into our boys.

Into our stories.

Into the things that make us laugh.

Into the way I look at life now.

Grit isn't forgetting what happened.

It's carrying the love with you while learning how to carry the loss.

Don't Let the Hard Days Win

There is a phrase that has become part of our family:

Don't let the hard days win.

Notice it doesn't say:

Don't have hard days.

Because you're going to have them.

Some will knock the wind right out of you.

Some will make you angry.

Some will make you question everything.

Some will require tea.

A LOT of tea.

And possibly chocolate.

But having a hard day doesn't mean you're losing.

Crying doesn't mean you're losing.

Needing help doesn't mean you're losing.

Resting doesn't mean you're losing.

Grit is knowing that today can be awful without deciding that your whole life is awful.

It's giving tomorrow the chance to be different.

Maybe That's What Grit Really Is

Maybe grit isn't the person standing on top of the mountain after all.

Maybe it's the person halfway up.

Tired.

Sweaty.

Questioning every life decision that brought them there.

Sitting on a rock for a minute saying, "I genuinely cannot do this."

And then eventually standing back up.

Not because the mountain got smaller.

Not because the climb suddenly became easy.

But because something inside them whispered:

One more step.

That's the kind of grit I understand.

I don't always feel strong.

I don't always feel brave.

There are still days when life knocks me sideways.

But I'm still here.

Still raising my boys.

Still laughing.

Still loving.

Still dreaming.

Still figuring things out.

Still talking to God.

Still putting the kettle on.

Still taking one more step.

And maybe that's enough.

Actually...

I know it is.

So if today is one of your hard days, make yourself a cuppa.

Sit down for a minute.

Cry if you need to.

Rest if you need to.

Then remind yourself of every single day you thought you wouldn't get through...

and somehow did.

That's grit.

And tomorrow?

We'll put the kettle on and try again.

Don't let the hard days win.

— It Starts With a Cuppa