Doubt.

The youngest has suddenly become fascinated with The Gruffalo and hubz happened to mention that they should make adult Gruffalo hats. I told him I knew of a few very talented people online who could probably make them to which he replied that I could probably make him one soon.  I scoffed at the absurdity of the idea, reminding him I can barely do blankets.  He was quick to tell me off for doubting myself saying a month or so ago I could barely crochet at all.

He’s right. Not about me being able to make hats but about me doubting myself.

Once upon a time I believed I could do anything.   I was full of ideas, inspiration and confidence. I believed I could be anything.

Yet now I believe I can’t do anything.  That I can’t be anything.  So I do and have thus become, nothing.

I don’t even try.  To try raises the possibilities of failure. To believe you’re a failure is one thing yet to have it proven is another kettle of fish.  Nobody likes failure and many actively avoid it.  I avoid it at all costs.

It’s like friendship, the fear of rejection and  abandonment is so strong that to avoid it I repel people and situations.

I guess I feel that I’ve let myself down on so many levels, I’ve failed the person I was.  Killed her dreams and aspirations.  Apart from my beautiful children I’m so far removed from who and what I thought I’d be in life.  I’m nowhere near to where I thought I’d be.  Maybe to aspire, dream and try is to just flirt with failure.  I’m not not sure I can actually handle any more.

Expect nothing of yourself, life and others and you keep disappointment at bay.

It’s a shit way to live

I can’t even remember when the volatile girl who could be anything became this.  I don’t remember when or how her skyscrapers became rubble.  When she stopped dreaming.

So yes, my husband is right. I do doubt myself.  I doubt my very existence.

All this over a hat and crochet.

I wish my navel was shallower.  Maybe then I’d stop navel gazing so much.

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