If you are fortunate to live long enough, inevitably you will experience moments that forever change the trajectory of your life. These are the dates we recall effortlessly, markers in time, that separate life into before and after. My most significant date is May 26th, 2016. Not even Adelaide’s death, Jackson’s birth, or Anessa’s arrival can compare to the change leveled on our family that day.

Sitting on the New Jersey commuter train coming home from my last day of working for Tom Colicchio’s restaurant group, I hadn’t grasped that it would be my last day working for a conventional employer for the foreseeable future.

I still didn’t understand all the ways Adelaide’s epilepsy diagnosis, received only four days prior, would wreak havoc on our lives.

I couldn’t even begin to fathom how the call I had just received from Miguel, telling me that he had landed the role of Hamilton for one month on Broadway and then on to Chicago, would alter our identities, platform, and bank account.

I didn’t yet know that one of my best friend’s mothers would pass away just a few days later due to complications from a rare condition, mast cell activation syndrome, that my daughter would eventually be diagnosed with.

There was life before May 26th, 2016, and a different one after.

One of the many, many difference is that I now have a crap load more tools at my disposal. In 2016 I was rocking a sturdy tool belt, minimal but effective. Today I have a whole freaking shed that would leave even Tim “The Toolman” Taylor, fending off jealous thoughts.

Tools are often used to symbolize strength be it a hammer, power drill, or wrecking ball. They can make us feel strong, but do they make us strong?

Until recently, when people used to tell me how strong they thought I was, I would quickly respond with, “I’m doing the same as anyone else in my position.” I didn’t feel like I deserved to be called strong because I didn’t choose strength – it was forced upon me.

So, what is it that qualifies as strength? And why are so many of us tempted to downplay our strength?

I didn’t choose the circumstances I faced, but I did choose to face them. For our muscles to gain strength, they must face resistance. Our emotional and mental strength is no different. Except instead of having bulging muscles to show off we have bulging toolsheds. Just because we wish that we didn’t need to collect all these gizmos and gadgets doesn’t negate the fact that we have them. Or that we should be proud of them.

Thankfully, I was fortunate to have had some significant tools at my disposal even from the beginning: support from family and friends, financial means, an education, my own physical health, and not least of which, a basic understanding of my mental health needs.

Then there were the tools I picked up along the way: applicable knowledge (in my case medical), adaptability, an ability to perform under pressure, a level of empathy I didn’t know was possible, a perspective shift regarding what is important, and the willingness to ask for help.

All of these tools will undoubtedly make someone stronger. But their choice to learn them in the first place, and then utilize them, is what constitutes strength. I am strong not just because of the situations I have found myself in, but because of how I’ve responded to them. Even if we think anyone else would do the same, and they might have, that doesn’t take away from the choices we make and the strength we take from them. How about giving ourselves a little credit!

It is our undesirable experiences that plant the seeds for emotional strength; we can then cultivate that strength through our actions and the knowledge gained. Our literal blood, sweat, and tears (especially the tears) nourish the seeds allowing them to grow.  Which reminds me of Audrey 2 from Little Shop of Horrors, but I digress….

None of this makes these experiences ‘worth it’. This is not some silver lining BS. If anything, I find myself resenting any strength I possess, or more specifically, its cost. Sometimes, “You’re so strong!” can sound an awful lot like, “Wow, your life sucks!”

However, all this means that growing strength IS a choice. Being strong IS a choice. Even if the circumstances that brought us that strength were not.

In working through this post, I’ve wondered if there was anything I wish I could tell 2016 Kelly as she sat in that train car unaware of the magnitude of the quake she felt rumbling beneath her feet. And I don’t think there is. Even hypothetically, there is no way that I could prepare her for what was coming.

But also I know she will figure it out.

Because she will choose strength.

Because she is strong.

I am strong.

Cue “Stronger” By Britney Spears

Photo ID: Kelly is sitting on a navy blue armchair in the corner of the living room smiling. She is wearing a navy blue shirt with tiny white polka dots and jeans. On her lap, is a six-month-old Adelaide wearing denim overalls and a long-sleeved pink shirt with red socks and a pink headband with a bow. Jackson, age four, is wearing a white long-sleeved shirt and grey vest. He is leaning into Kelly on her right side and smiling.