That which does not kill us makes us stronger. Or does it?

When I wrote recently about my experience being bullied, a number of well meaning people noted, in Nietzsche style:

That which does not kill us makes us stronger

That is what we tell ourselves when we’ve gone through difficult times and survived. We want there to have been a purpose, a reason, why we suffered. That is what we tell others when we want to minimize their pain and their suffering. That is what abusers and bullies tell themselves when rationalizing their horrid behaviour.

But are they right?

In Life’s Lies: That Which Does Not Kill Us Makes Us Stronger, Diana Hartman writes:

This platitude serves to ease the discomfort of the observer. It can only rightly be said by those who have been strengthened, and it can only rightly be said about themselves, not to others.

The truth is that some people never get into the second group. Those who do get there experience considerable weakness before strength develops.

This, I believe, is true. Not everyone makes it to the second group. Some people do end up taking their own lives as a result of their suffering. Some people end up depressed. Some turn to alcohol or drugs. Some become abusers themselves. And some find a way to rise above it all.  I think strength is built in the process of rising above it all. I believe that strength comes from within. I think those that are capable of finding that strength would have found it without needing to suffer.

I think that hard work makes us stronger. I believe that facing challenges head on makes us stronger. I do not think that being the victim of abuse, bullying, or neglect makes us stronger. Sarah Eberhardt wrote a paper for Bryn Mawr College called What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger: true or false? A discussion of the effects of child abuse and noted that the chief danger to the brain stemming from abuse is the stress placed on fragile, developing tissue and that some of these changes can cause a permanent rewiring of the brain.  That is scary.

As parents, we worry. We may worry that our kids will be the victims of abuse or bullying. Or, alternatively, we may worry that our children have perhaps had too few worries, too little suffering, and that it leaves them exposed in this sometimes cruel world. Jake Aryeh Marcus from Sustainable Mothering wrote a moving post about her nightmare and her concerns as her son turned fifteen:

My son is bright and engaging. He chats up anyone who stands still long enough. He wants to know what you are passionate about and he wants to tell you about his favorite architect, the local community feud about the election of township commissioners, the quality of programming on BBC (we live in the US). My son trusts people until they show they can not be trusted.

When I was fifteen, the long battle between my divorced parents over who wouldn’t have custody ended with both refusing to keep me. I was on my own, hiding from the social workers who would put me in foster care if they knew. From the age of fifteen, until my son was born sixteen years later, no family member gave me shelter.  Most of the time no one in my family even knew where I was and, as far as I can tell, none of them cared. My children are the only blood relatives I have lived with since I was the age my baby boy will be tomorrow.

…

Most days these differences between us make me feel relief.  I have spared him these things. But on days like today, covered with the sense memory of dreams like last night’s, I fear for him. Who will he trust in his innocence? Have I, in keeping him safe, left him exposed?

Personally, as a parent, I want to give my children the drive to seek out challenges. I don’t want them to shy away from difficult tasks. I want to teach them that strength is a virtue and one that they can build.  I think it is useful for them to learn to deal with conflicts with friends, to survive minor heartbreak, to make mistakes and then try try again. But I will do everything I can to protect them from experiences that I think could truly be hurtful, like abuse, like bullies, like neglect, like war. I will do this because we do not know which of our children will rise above and derive strength from horrendous experiences and which ones will spiral downwards.

The irony: About a year* after writing the words that form the title of this post, Nietzche suffered a mental breakdown, which spiraled into a serious mental illness, and eventually led to his death.  He, I guess, landed among those who never made it to the second group.

* Thank you to Twin Toddlers Dad from Little Stomaks for helping me find the year that Nietzsche wrote this quote.

Tagged as: bullying, child abuse, neglect, Nietzsche, parenting