My feelings of inadequacy came honest.
There have been few people in my life I’ve ever been good enough for.
I don’t mean coaches or teachers, their feedback was always welcomed. It’s the parents, aunts and uncles, friends and boyfriends that heaped the feeling on me.
I’ve always felt like the “maybe if…” friend.
“Yeah, lets hang out! I’ll check my calendar. Oh whoops! Something else came up!” Or my favorite, “OH, I forgot we made plans and I made other plans but I can’t cancel these new plans even though we had plans before I made these-ones.”
I’m like the fourth string quarterback. Good enough to run to with problems, not good enough to hang out with in public. Not good enough to commit to plans with.
My ex husband used to hang my head over the bed when he was fucking me because he couldn’t stand to look at my ugly face.
I’ve never been thin enough, even when I was existing on bell peppers and laxatives.
One ex boyfriend kept dumping me for “better” women.
Yeah, I said that. He KEPT dumping me. Three times. And even the last time, I groveled and begged him not to dump me. Certainly nobody else would ever find me worthy of their time or love.
My in-laws hate me. I’m too fat and not pretty enough and not successful enough and not enough-enough for their son. What scares me about that, is that they’re probably right. He’s beautiful and driven and a good parent and a great housekeeper and a dream husband.
And I am fat and average looking and, according to them, unsuccessful.
I’m just all-around unworthy of the life that I have with him.
And yet he chose me. All of me. Every inch of me. And he chooses me about 5 nights a week and every day he goes to work with beautiful women who recognize the prize that he is.
Most of the time that’s life, it just is what it is. But sometimes insecurity slips in like herpes; silent at first, then kind of tingly before erupting into a nasty sore that festers and threatens to ruin your face. Or your genitals for that matter.
I don’t have any sort of herpes for those of you wondering. I just know the clinical definition of its life cycle, and it feels oddly like my tangle with inadequacy.
I thought I had my shit together until today when it was suggested that I go on a bereavement vacation with the very people who make me feel more inadequate than anyone has ever made me feel. It was then that I realized I most definitely did not have my shit together and that I am most definitely, still inadequate.
At least this week.
Maybe next week I’ll be able to walk like a goddess again, but this week, I’m inadequate and I’m going to allow myself to feel those emotions. I’m going to put them on like a second skin and see what they feel like again because it keeps me honest.
Then I’m going to pick myself up by the FUPA and get on with my life because I’m a goddamned good wife, a bomb-ass mom, a super-dope friend, an award-winning writer, and on the path to personal success – whatever the fuck that is.