Living the Paradox: Why Life's Contradictions Make Us Whole
The intriguing irony about the wicked stepparent trope is as follows: they discipline the stepchild and pamper their biological child. They force all the housework on the stepchild, sparing the biological. In the process, the stepchild learns responsibility, grit, emotional maturity, and other qualities that turn them into a functional adult. Meanwhile, the biological child grows up ill-equipped to handle the real world. They think they’re perpetuating wickedness, but they’re ruining the one they love and helping the one they hate.
This fairy tale irony points to something deeper about reality itself: life is paradoxical by nature. The ebb and flow of existence naturally creates contradictions, things that shouldn’t make sense but do. I have found both friends and enemies in unlikely places, found solace from the things that could’ve killed me, and pain from things I thought would soothe me. Like the mother who “eats her own child” out of too much love, or the hater who actually brings out the best in you—things are not always as they seem. Life is nuanced, and those who deny this fact deny reality.
Even spiritual truths reflect this pattern. God confounds the wise things of this world with the foolish. The Beatitudes are a perfect example of this principle. Jesus positions the meek, the peaceful, the mournful, the hated as recipients of divine favor. He says in His Kingdom, the least is the greatest. Yet of the wealthy and powerful, He says it is hard to enter heaven. These spiritual truths confound the natural man, but even within natural law there are paradoxes—many of them.
If paradox is woven into the fabric of existence itself, then it becomes not just something to observe, but something to embody. It is possible, actually important, for an individual to live a paradox. This is the only way to avoid locking ourselves into boxes—by which I mean popular culture, common wisdom, widely accepted opinions. Ideas or identities that everyone assumes to be optimal and never questions.
One such idea is strength. It is common knowledge that a man ought to be strong. He must never cry, nor ask for help, nor admit that he does not know everything. If he is too polite, people take that as a sign that he can be poked. Men are therefore socialized to always put on a front.
But that’s the problem. This is not real strength. It is a front, a performance. And true strength is not performed. This is where the paradoxes come in.
I can project weakness, yet I am strong. I can be sometimes ignorant, yet I am knowledgeable. I can have little money, yet I am rich. The truly wise aren’t afraid of ignorance. The truly humble can also be assertive. The truly strong know when to be weak. This does not change who they are.
When we lock ourselves into a single identity or performance—the always-strong man, the always-right expert, the person who has it all together—we become predictable, inflexible, and ultimately limited. We sacrifice our full humanity for a socially acceptable caricature. But the person who can hold paradox, who can admit ignorance without feeling diminished and be gentle without feeling weak, has achieved something the performative “strong man” never will: freedom from others’ expectations, and the fullness of what it means to be human.