Martyr

I’ve gotten out of the habit. The habit of sorting my thoughts as pieces of a puzzle; putting them in order with pen and paper. I have let myself dismiss the therapy that my brain receives by simply making a thought tangible.

An issue that I have dealt with my entire life is self-worth. Oh, what I would give to live a  life of entitlement and conceit; to feel substantial and worthy of the space that I occupy. While I envy very little, I am envious of people who can claim their lives as their own and do not have the desire to nurture, but allow themselves to be cared for.

I’ve set out on a quest to right the wrongs of my past. Not necessarily wrongs that I have committed (those are definitely included), but rather wrongs that I have participated in unwillingly or perhaps unknowingly. The notion that in order to be loved, you have to empty yourself into others leaving them to feel obligated to return that “love.” The aversion to conflict as a way of keeping the peace and maintaining a facade of happiness. The naive assumption that if someone really loves you then they will always want what is best for you, regardless of how it effects them. I have to break this cycle of dysfunction and co-dependence. I have to have the strength to say “no” when the demands made on me are ridiculous and excessive.

As most parents do, I worry about the example that I have set for my children. I have always wished for them to be generous and caring; compassionate and bold. I want them to want to do the right thing and to have the bravery to make the hard choices. In short, I attempted to lay out the template for “do unto others.” My ego told me that I was setting a great example of how to care for others; putting their needs before my own, doing what was expected of me, being an emotional zombie…

The real eye-opener is in seeing my own kid follow my lead and viewing it from the outside. Martyrdom is not pretty and that’s what I was. A martyr. I sacrificed my happiness and dreams on the altar with willing hands. I held the knife as it was pressed into my flesh. I was too weak to refuse and too afraid to walk away. I have been a coward. I hid behind the need to be needed. I did this to myself.

So, I am attempting to absorb the disappointed stares when I do not behave as expected. I am okay with not being essential. My existence is not contingent on the approval of everyone.  I might drive to the creek alone instead of running errands on my lunch hour or I may read a book instead of cooking meals. The world has not yet ended and my circle is still round.