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.