So- the flu has finally passed- I’m through sickness and into health again, and just about normal.
Here’s the thing. Maybe I learned something about myself through this flu.
Maybe I don’t necessarily like it.
Because the thing is… I sucked, sick. I was bitchy and short and pissy and multiple more none too flattering adjectives. And that sucks. Because if you’re a kind person only in normal situations, what does that make you?
What does that make me?
It’s been a weird relationship, me and my concept of self. Vestiges of social anxiety make me feel nigh on unforgivable for even the slightest of normal human failings. A streak of perfectionism leads to concepts of failing unless I’m overachieving. I cobble together self esteem through a variety of patches and props. So no, I don’t think I have a realistic view on myself. But see, I know that, so I often try to look at it from all angles- like a strange shell picked up from a beach. What lives in here, I wonder? What are the stripes for, camouflage or decoration? Are the spikes for defense or offense? And if you aren’t familiar with that particular kind of shell- how do you know if the one you hold in your hand is a good one?
And I’ve often wondered- is wanting to be a better person enough? Where do I cut myself some damn slack, ever, and where do I need to work harder? The answer is I never have known.
I want to be kind. But that’s different than being kind.
Lord. I don’t go gentle into… anything. I fight and claw and drag myself towards grace, and if it’s the journey that’s important then I’ll continue the journey. Just like I’ve always done. Just like I’ll always do.