I am Enough

Every handful of weeks, (perhaps it is cyclical) I do not feel like myself. Despite my vigilance with medication, my neurotransmitters fizzle, needing some sort of extra jump start. And until I get that jump start (usually via rest, commiserating with friends, or just talking myself through it) I'm in a funk.

The funk usually involves a lot of self-doubt and low self-esteem. A lot of feelings of not being 'enough'. Not good enough, smart enough, funny enough, kind enough. Not a good enough mom, not a good enough wife, not a good enough friend, just not a good enough human.

I doubt who I am, even questioning if I know who I am. I feel inadequate, knowing that I lack the motivation to throw myself into a passion, wondering if I even have a passion. (This wondering about having a passion is not a phenomenon only found during these funks.) I compare myself to other people, weighing my abilities against theirs, always finding myself coming up short.

Lately, I have started to wonder if at the end of my life I will only see mediocrity. Was I a good mom? Sure. Was I a great mom? Not really. Was I a good writer? Well, an okay one anyway. But was I great? No. And I continue on and on through all and any interests or 'jobs' I may have.

It's not healthy, I know. And I work on it, every single time it comes up. Inevitably, my friends reassure me, my husband reassures me, and somehow I manage to overcome my faulty wiring. The medication helps, of course, and my therapist, who I am convinced saved me, do a lot of the work. I know I'm not in a perfect place, but then I'm not sure if 'perfection' even exists.

But I keep trying, for myself, for my girls. I finally understand how hard it must've been (and sometimes must still be) for my parents to know my self-doubt. Even though I know that it's biological, that's not my fault, I worry about the girls. I desperately want them to know how wonderful and special they are. How they are and will always be Enough. And I am struck by how this deep-down love and desperation I have must also be how my parents felt. How hard it must've been for them to see me and know I could not see myself the same way. How hard it must still be for my mom to read this and hear my not-so-fine moments.

I am fine. I am. Most of the time I know I am a good person and a good mom. But, just like everyone else on the planet, I am a work in progress. So I try to cut myself a little slack and be okay with those moments of doubt and let them go and move on. I will be a positive example to my children of what a human is, imperfect and compassionate, that compassion extending even to myself.

I am good. I am kind. I am Enough.

(And by the way, so are YOU.)

xoxo,
Christine