The self diagnosis

I’ve been struggling lately. Struggling with this undying sense of mediocrity. Maybe it’s because I grew up a thinking that I was special… like actually special… not just like “everyone is special” but I grew up knowing I would do something amazing. But I haven’t. Not in terms of where I had placed the mark many, many years ago.

I was supposed to save the world, in all sense of the word. I have this vision that everything could be fixed. The only thing that lacked in the solution was the effort put into the solution itself. In my early 20s, I even wanted to go to Africa and save the starving children, like a typical white middle class girl with a saviour complex. How insulting is that – to want to save just to justify an inner void of need. I know better now but the “self-centered selflessness of youth” is just so typical. But what good did that thinking do for me?

I was supposed to be special. But I’m not. Not in the “Bill Gates” “Steve Jobs” sort of way. And that’s unsettling for me. I’m not a great. But I was supposed to be. But I’m not. And that realization has taken me years of self hate to endure and surpass. I am not a Great.

I’m a statistic. A mere number on the wall. A cancer waiting to happen. A car crash on the local news. How do you just come to terms with that? I’m not sure but I have to and I am.

This is the Gift of Motherhood – the constant look within… the constant self diagnosis.

To separate myself from this core would be refreshing. I constantly am having to reground myself, realizing that this is it. Any moment could be the moment that the world crashes down. How do normal people just carry on? How do we just forget the inevitable moment that we cease to be with our loved ones. And that’s all it has ever been about. This need to be Great.

A Greatness so Great it could surpass grief. And here I am, the luckiness I could bathe in, just waiting. Just waiting for that giant hoof to drop and to shatter this dream I’ve created. How? How?! Just waiting for that drop of reality to settle into this bliss… as I read those Facebook memoirs of misery and pain like a drink that I’d add ice to. Cheers to that.


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