“You are one of the strongest people I know.”

A friend said this to me yesterday and, like a Phoenix from the ashes, I rose to accept the compliment that didn’t feel entirely true in the moment.

There are a million types of strength so I’m not sure in which way her comment applied to me.

Strong-Willed? Hell yes. I’m as stubborn as they come. That’s not to say that I don’t learn from mistakes or new information. I do and I will adapt when it is warranted, but if I’m right, surrender immediately — you won’t win.

Physically strong? At 5’4” and 123 pounds. Nah, that is definitely not what she meant.

Strong language? No, shit. I can use the word “fuck” as a noun, verb, adjective, and adverb all in the same sentence. And, correctly, I might add. I can make a sailor blush.

Does strength mean I can defend myself? I know I have a strong personality and, when I’m mad, I’m fierce. I can eviscerate a person and have their dick mounted to a plaque before they can even comprehend what hit them. I tend to shoot first and count bodies later if I feel attacked or betrayed. It’s a defense mechanism that has worked throughout the years because I seldom take someone down who didn’t wholeheartedly deserve it.

How about the strength to take a hit and come back from it? I’ve lived a charmed life so I haven’t been tested in this way too often. And, even then, it was never the knock out punch. I’ve been up against the ropes a time or two but never down for the count. Right now, the ref is counting to 9 and, for the first time ever, I feel like I might not get up in time.

Whatever my friend meant, each ragged breath I took for the rest of the afternoon was taken with the oxygen her compliment provided.

I will get up, I will fight like hell, and I will win.

Maybe that’s exactly what she meant.