There are some things I am positive about. My age, my name, my address, and my dog’s name pop into my mind.

But, I am not a subscriber to the gospel of positivity that has taken root in our society. In other words, I don’t believe in being positive all the time.

I think being positive has been overly glorified in our society and it forces people who may be suffering to hide their fear, their need for comfort and to pretend to be better than they are both physically and spiritually. It negates a person’s suffering—after all, if you’re positive you can’t be depressed, admit you’re frightened, admit you need help or can’t cope. Instead, you’re forced to put on an artificially happy face and lie to yourself and others.

When I had cancer several years ago, my writing sisters assured me that I would come through my cancer journey to once again be a thriver—like several of them had. It was a great response. No one said, be positive, be upbeat, it’s all going to be okay. I had done everything I could to be sure I would be “okay.” But I knew there was a road ahead that only I could travel. I would have to swerve around the potholes, and follow the route until I came to wherever it would end. And yes, there was a “happy ending” to that challenge. Thank God no one urged me to be positive. Instead, they listened, offered sympathetic help, and allowed me to lead the way.

Contrast that to when my late husband was trying to process the news of his impending cancer battle when his friend said, “You have to be positive,” when Dan expressed fear and sorrow. I can still remember the tears that filled my husband’s eyes as he tried to force a smile.

When I had Covid-19 ( with a capital C),  I felt anger, despair, anxiety, confusion, and abandonment—but I never felt positive. I was trying to survive. That’s where all of my energy went— to survival. To just getting through each day, each treatment, and each encounter with medical personnel.

What I did have was determination. I was determined to work hard at recovery, to cooperate with the doctors and nurses, and to keep trying no matter how difficult it was.

The incredible support network and the many prayer warriors on my side lifted me up when I was faltering. And there were many times when I was tired, feeling alone and frustrated.

I didn’t recover because I pretended everything was great—it wasn’t! It was hellish and frightening and profoundly lonely.

My best role model for facing a daunting challenge was my late mother. When she found herself in an epic struggle with lung cancer many, many decades ago, she was honest, forthright and brave. That’s how I want to face my challenges, too. With determination and courage.