True story–I have a big fat inferiority complex. Big. Fat. Huge.
I always have. With some pretty good reason. The list of what I am NOT good at, is much, much longer than the things I can do well.
And it goes way back.
I was 7 before I could ride my bike without training wheels. The very last of my friends to do so. When I tried walking on stilts, they just came down on my head as I fell. I think my dad spent more time explaining how to push them away from me so I wouldn’t get clobbered, when I fell. I discovered I was afraid of heights when my cousin and I took our first gymnastics class. I felt sick through ever lesson. She was skilled enough to go on and compete if our area had such a team for her to join. Monkey bars? Are you kidding me? I never got past the first bar before I dropped to the ground. A yo-yo went down but never came back up for me. Never. Draw? No way. I disproved my art teacher’s theory that everyone can draw, they just have to focus so the right side of the brain could take over. That pretty book holder I made in shop class? My instructor did it. I think I put the stain on. Maybe.
When other kids understood fashion or being laid back and just laughing? I was frumpy and serious. While the other girls rocked mini-skirts, a girl laughed at me for having the ugliest, fattest knee she had ever seen. At the school dances, I sent my time in the bathroom, calming down the girls who were crying so they could go back out and have fun–while I stayed in the bathroom miserable.
While other kids were playing sports, I was being put on the B team and benched. When they went to games on Saturday, I went to a recombiant DNA workshop that I had qualified for, but honestly had no idea what I was doing. Or I was spending part of my summer at a leadership conference where I found out I was the class idiot. Every darn kid there was uber intelligent. Like, make up your own language to use with your friends because you were bored, intelligent. I literally walked in to the program to learn that I was the ONLY one not in a gifted program.
Let’s not even talk about how having Multiple Sclerosis in high school made me a weirdo. As if I needed help.
College was better. Not perfect, but better.
Marriage has been a challenge. My hubby is a better cook than I. He has skills that allow him to make things, real, tangible things. He is nicer than I am. He is calmer than I. But the one that really shows me up? Caitlyn. She yo-yos, rainbow looms, climbs monkey bars and trees like a boss. I look at her often and see again what a failure I am. That little girl can do anything, absolutely, anything she puts her mind to.
And her ever classy mother is jealous of her own kid.
I always wanted to be good at one thing. Just one thing. I never was. I never am.
It is very safe to say I harbor a lot of resentment. Not against Caitlyn, but against myself and much of my life.
Sigh.Survive til you Thrive!