Redefining Strength: What Does Strength Really Look Like After Trauma?

What does strength look like?

For some, it looks like standing tall.

For others, it looks like speaking up, setting boundaries, surviving adversity, rebuilding a life, or refusing to allow what happened to define who they become.

But what if strength looks different than we have been taught to believe?

What if strength can be found in both the person who walks into a courtroom with unwavering composure and the person who walks out of that same courtroom in tears?

What if strength can look like courage and fear at the same time?

What if strength isn’t a performance at all?

We Have Narrowed the Definition of Strength

Somewhere along the way, strength became associated with a very particular image.

The strong person is composed.

The strong person doesn’t cry.

The strong person keeps going.

The strong person doesn’t need help.

The strong person doesn’t fall apart.

The strong person “bounces back.”

The strong person handles it.

But those are not definitions of strength.

Those are descriptions of particular behaviors.

And when we confuse those behaviors with strength itself, we create an unnecessarily narrow standard for what it means to be resilient, courageous, or capable.

Trauma-informed practice has increasingly emphasized strengths-based approaches that recognize people’s existing resources, coping abilities, resilience, and capacity for growth. (NCBI)

Yet even within conversations about strengths and resilience, there is an important question worth asking:

What happens when we define strength by how someone looks while they are hurting?

Strength Does Not Require the Absence of Emotion

A person can be strong and afraid.

A person can be strong and angry.

A person can be strong and exhausted.

A person can be strong and confused.

A person can be strong and grieving.

A person can be strong and crying.

A person can be strong and completely overwhelmed.

None of those experiences cancel out strength.

In fact, courage itself reminds us of this.

We don’t generally define courage as the absence of fear. Courage exists precisely because fear exists.

We can be afraid and still act.

We can be uncertain and still move forward.

We can hurt and still choose.

We can need help and still possess strength.

So why have we decided that strength must mean the absence of vulnerability?

A Survivor Doesn’t Have to Perform Strength

Imagine a survivor sitting in a courtroom preparing to testify about something deeply traumatic.

She is nervous.

Her hands shake.

She needs something to fidget with.

She cries before taking the stand.

She asks for a break.

Then she gets on the stand and tells the truth.

Is she strong?

Absolutely.

Now imagine another survivor.

She sits quietly.

She answers every question clearly.

She remains composed during cross-examination.

She walks out of the courtroom without shedding a tear.

Is she strong?

Absolutely.

The difference between these two people isn’t that one demonstrated strength and the other didn’t.

They simply expressed themselves differently.

Strength doesn’t require a particular facial expression.

It doesn’t require a particular tone of voice.

It doesn’t require emotional control.

It doesn’t require stoicism.

And it certainly doesn’t require pretending that something didn’t hurt.

Strength Can Be Found in the Choice to Keep Living

Sometimes strength is obvious.

Sometimes it is quiet.

Sometimes it is visible only when we understand what a person has survived.

Strength can be:

Showing up to court.

Telling the truth.

Leaving.

Staying.

Asking for help.

Going back to work.

Raising your children.

Building relationships.

Setting boundaries.

Forgiving someone.

Choosing not to forgive someone.

Starting over.

Trying again.

Resting.

Going to therapy.

Saying, “I don’t know.”

Saying, “I need help.”

Saying, “I’m not ready.”

Saying, “I’m ready now.”

There is strength in surviving the day.

There is strength in rebuilding a life.

There is strength in deciding that what happened to you will be part of your story without becoming the entirety of your identity.

Research examining survivor narratives has found that survivors themselves may describe strength and resilience through perseverance, agency, relationships, recovery, and reclaiming their lives—not simply through appearing emotionally unaffected. (DOI)

Strength Is Not the Same as Stoicism

This distinction matters.

Stoicism can be a coping strategy.

Composure can be a coping strategy.

Silence can be a coping strategy.

Assertiveness can be a coping strategy.

Even humor can be a coping strategy.

But none of these behaviors should become the measuring stick by which we determine whether someone is strong.

A survivor should not have to demonstrate emotional restraint to be believed.

She should not have to appear confident to be courageous.

She should not have to tell her story without crying for her story to matter.