Are you a victim, or are you a survivor?

Someone asked me this question, and I spent a week debating my answer.

Given the two options it was obvious that survivor was the greater of 

the two, but both words hung bitterly in my mouth. 

What if I'm both?

Is that possible? Is that an option, or am I limited to what I've been

given?

What if I'm neither?

This thought brought on a wave of pride and defiance at being restrained

by a pitiful label. I wanted to declare my strength and claim myself as

an individual, born to greatness and filled with limitless compassion. I

struggled with this question and reasoned with my pride, but at the end

of my internal battle I came to a twisted conclusion.

Can I be both and neither? 

Then what am I? There are the typical answers that I've been told by the

Christian world:  You are a daughter of God.  You are loved.  You are 

special.  You are a treasure.  You are worthy.  You are...well, you know.

But that wasn't enough. That wasn't right. That was cliche and overused,

and no amount of pretty phrases could ever sum me up.So what am I? Who 

am I? What sums up how I approach every day?  What word best describes the

foundation of what builds my character.

I'm a fighter. I'm a warrior.   

Yes, I could say those words with certainty and relief, but there was a

fact that I couldn't escape.  I used to be a victim, and I then became

a survivor.  I wasn't exempt from these categories, instead, I had fully 

embodied each at one point, but I was confident that this was who I had

become.

But then I felt bitter, not at the word, or the meaning, or the 

restrictive label, but at myself.  How can I use such authoritative and

powerful words to describe myself.  I am filled with weakness.  I am

filled with a weakness that has dictated so much of my life.  A weakness

that has left me  crippled when I had the perfect opportunity to fight 

for something noble. I am flawed. I'm not a noble warrior tackling life's 

impossible circumstances.  I'm weak. I've fallen. At some points I've

given up. I've failed over and over.  How can I embrace such a prideful

word as fighter or warrior. 

I am a fighter.

Despite my anger at myself it set comfortably in my mind.

I am a warrior.

I've made mistakes, but maybe victory and success doesn't look like what

I've been taught it is.

I am loved.

Love isn't what this world tries to teach me it is.  We see love as soft 

and protective, but God said THIS IS LOVE! and suffered the most 

horrendous death.

I am strong.

I was taught strength is always overcoming, always being ok, standing on

your own.  Maybe strength isn't always picking up everyone when they're

 down, but coming down and hurting with them.   Maybe strength is 

embracing pain and not conquering it.

I am victorious. 

I've always been taught that victory is winning.  The victor wins.  The

victory goes to the better opponent.  Well, this just reminds me of my 

failures.  

So, if I truly am a a victorious, fighting warrior, then what makes me

victorious amidst all my failures? Then it struck me.

Victory isn't winning every battle, it's never giving up. 

Kirsten Wallace