personality paradox

‘there is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others’ - Jane Austen

I do not know what kind of person I am. Nor do I know how others might perceive me; I hope they would describe me as kind or intelligent but perhaps some would use less favourable adjectives. There is however, one word which indisputably belongs to my defining characteristics: stubborn.

Stubbornness is often viewed as a flaw, as something which limits a person and pushes others away. I, however, view it as a strength. In every other sense I am weak, I am scared of confrontation and a people pleaser to my core, my stubborn streak is the only strong thing about me. It’s something I inherited from my mother, whose will is even prouder than mine, but she is strong in so many other ways too.

I possess a special strain of stubbornness, one which goes against every fibre in my being. This trait of mine defies all others, waging an internal war and threatening to tear me apart. I suppose two other crucial adjectives in the list of my defining characteristics ought to be: nervous and fearful. I overthink everything, imagine the worst possible scenarios and convince myself that something bad awaits me even when I am perfectly safe. This is a cycle which repeats itself every single day. I am on edge constantly, although admittedly some days are worse than others. I wonder if this is normal? Of course anxiety is not an uncommon thing but why does my inherit nervousness convince me that my safety, or the safety of my loved ones, is perpetually at risk? Will I ever know true peace?

My stubbornness is the only thing stronger than my fear but it is by no means a solution. I’ll give myself some credit, once I set my mind to something, I do it - no matter what. Two years ago, I visited a war memorial alone: a large tower in a small, seaside town. I was doing research for an essay I had to write for university; I expected the trip to be as equally boring and uneventful as the essay itself but I was sorely mistaken. It was the dead of winter, I was alone and the memorial site was a ghost town - apparently I was the only person in the whole world who had deemed it worth visiting. There weren’t even any members of staff present - I was entirely isolated. The uneasiness started the moment I entered the tower, as I peered over the names etched into the walls with only the sound of my footsteps as company. The memorial’s main spectacle, I had been told, was the view from the top of the tower overlooking the sea. Upon quick inspection, I realised that the tower did not possess a lift. It’s okay, I said to myself, I’ll walk. That was all it took. That silent promise I had made, which not a single soul had witnessed, had become a sacred vow - one which I simply could not break on pain of death.

I began the long ascent towards the top, up and up the stairs to reach a destination which I was no longer sure that I wanted to bear witness to. The cold, grey concrete stood around me, an eerie sound echoing off the ancient walls. The staircase was without a railing and I couldn’t help but imagine someone appearing amidst the grey and pushing me over the edge. I was wholly convinced that I was going to die - breathless and on the verge of my first panic attack in years. However, I had told myself that I would walk to the top and that is exactly what I did. I kept putting one foot in front of the other, panting as my heart threatened to break through my chest, until finally the staircase was behind me. It was anticlimactic to say the least. It was a cloudy day, the sky the same colour as the tower’s interior, and the wind made it hard to stay at the top for long. I trudged back down the steps with the same trepidation that had weighed on me en route to the top.

I do not know entirely if this obstinacy can be considered a personal strength, since it brings me such anguish but at least I can say that I am a woman of my word - even if those words are only silent vows in my head. I do not like that I am so fearful, it often makes me feel weak and incapable, but I do appreciate the strain of resilience woven amongst these threads of fear. I just hope that my stubbornness will never push me too far, some things are meant to be feared after all.

The tower’s interior (my nemesis)

The view from the top

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Thank you for reading this post, I hope you enjoyed <3

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