Today is an Unworthy Day: in defense of a million possibilities

This week I have had a deep sense of inadequacy.

A myriad of things set it off, but if I had to choose, category is: feeling under-recognized, under-seen, under-acknowledged. Picking up broken, sad pieces of things, putting them back together and seeing someone else run off with the thing, completely oblivious of the labor and care I put into it to make that thing somewhat whole again.

External validation is a bitch ya’ll.

So in this moment, this moment of feeling left out. Of feeling worthless. Of feeling invisible. Somehow both judged and forgotten at the same time, in what is certainly a false sense of being unvalued by my community, my friends, my work, I have to reconcile some truths.

I value my work.

I value my contributions.

I do the best I can every day, with the tools I have available to me.

And I am committed to expanding and improving my toolkit every day of my life.

And also,

I value the words and acknowledgement of others.

I used to admire the words of others without regard for who the others were.

If it was said about me, I valued it. No matter the source.

I’m getting better at valuing only the words of those others I admire. Now I try to take where the words are coming from with a full lick of salt.

But sometimes in the absence of feeling validated by trusted others, the sharp, cruel words said by people that a more discerning Jennifer would no longer value, resurface with a vengeance.

And those ghosts of pain past make me doubt myself deeply. Make me afraid to be fully, authentically, openly myself in certain environments, with certain people, under certain conditions. A self-fulfilling prophecy of inadequacy.

On days (and weeks) like this, I am tempted to wallow in one truth. Nobody sees me for who I am. Rather I am some invisible, or worse yet, villain version of myself. 

I can’t help but value the imagined and real words of others.

I know I need to start dealing with more infinite possibilities, rather than this absolutism of inadequacy. I will curate my world to be more multitudinous. More curious. More generous. More flexible.

A possibility: 

I am someone’s most precious.

Another possibility: 

To someone, I am completely unremarkable. Totally average and not to be remembered.

And yet more possibilities:

To someone, I am exceptional.

To someone, I am terrible, cruel, selfish and heartless.

To someone, I am unknown.

To someone, I’ve been all of these.

I know these possibilities exist, because I have lived them. I’ve valued many people and moments, and let them rewrite me. I’ve been hurt many times too, some intentional, many not.

There have been villains in my story, just as I have been villains in others. There are liminal figures, and heroes, and deus ex machinas and mystics.

It is easy to label. 

It simplifies things. 

Adequate. Inadequate. Good. Bad. Loved. Hated.

When I label, I don’t have to dig.

But a million possibilities are always more interesting than two.

Yes, I am in fact completely inadequate and perfectly adequate and inexplicably exceptional all at the same time.

I’m all three. And infinite. And more. And less. And enough.

And so are you. Even and especially on the days it is hardest to believe that.

And you know what, feeling more expansive and not quite as inadequate as I was 600 words ago, I have a question for you:

For the thing that hurts you the most, the thing that stings when it bubbles up from its sour, dark hiding place, is there another possible truth you’ve yet to consider? 

How about three other possibilities? Or five? 

I wonder, if like me, you have been unnecessarily cruel to yourself because you’ve only allowed yourself to imagine one.