SOME days, I want to give up the fight. Today is one of those days.
My mother once told me that if I could let things go—I could lead a much happier life. But I didn’t know how not to be me. But now, I think—was this really what my mother wanted me to be? Not me? Not really.
I think what my mother was trying to tell me was that I was, in fact, trying too hard to be someone else. That I have this image in my mind of what I’m supposed to be but somehow, no matter how hard I try, I can never get there.
Do you believe that you can never get to a place you were never meant to be?
When I was a child, I was told I talked too much and this, obviously, was a bad thing because I always got punished for it.
Every time I chatted with my seatmates, I was moved to another part of the classroom. Away from my circle of friends, my teacher hoped to silence me. She hoped in vain. I eventually got moved to so many different parts of the classroom that by year-end, I had befriended the entire class.
Perhaps, it could have been explained to me that talking wasn’t bad but that talking while the teacher was explaining, was. Of course, I might have retorted that the teacher was not sparking joy in the classroom. And that would have meted me more punishment.
But the message was loud and clear—good kids stay silent. And I desperately wanted to be good so I prayed every day not to be me. But God was deaf to my pleas.
What does good mean, anyway? Who determines what good means? Why do I have to measure myself against other people’s standards? Well, no longer. I’m not a child anymore so I measure myself against my own standards. But there lies the problem. My standards are now more exacting than others.
Someone once told me that I idealized all my relationships. It took me decades to accept this. It took me even longer to accept the fact that I do set impossible standards for myself.
Why do I think that if I let my guard down for one second, I will lose my self? Why do I think that if I can’t solve a problem, I don’t deserve to occupy space on Earth? Why do I think that if I work less, I am worthless?
My mother used to say to me, “Stop. You are enough.” Maybe, it’s time I listened.
Last night, I felt like doing a Pope Benedict—because I’m drained and I feel like I can’t solve the problems that keep coming at me like zombies from all directions.
When I was a child, I believed a super hero would one day come and save me. Today, I don’t see why I should wait for a super hero to save me when I can very well be my own hero. I don’t even need a cape to be that.
Some days, I want to give up the fight. But do not worry. I will not. Because I made a pact with myself that no matter how hard, I will find the strength to save myself.
Be your own hero.