I’d be a terrible spy.
I hate feeling like a fraud, like my life is a lie.
Why do I feel this way?
1. “I am a writer.”
I make this statement, to myself and to others, and yet there are many days I fail to write anything beyond a Facebook status. Other days I write paid articles, but even those days fail to satisfy that internal “I am a writer” definition.
2. “I am a Christian.”
This one mostly strikes on Sundays. Because I’m not currently attending, or a member in good standing of, a local church. But does not showing up at the building and dropping my check in the bucket make me a fraud? Is my Christianity, my relationship with Christ Jesus my Lord, limited to me making an appearance at a particular locale? Really? That seems wrong. In fact, I know it’s wrong. But convincing my brainwashed brain that it’s wrong… challenging.
3. “I am a wife.”
I’ve been battling with ovarian cysts (endometrial or hemhorragic, not sure which) since January. According to non-traditional medicine, said cysts are caused by “unresolved or unexpressed anger.” Really? You think I have unresolved anger issues? OH. MY. WORD. Let’s just say this… I don’t have enough clothes that still fit to let the monster out. You’ve seen the Hulk, right? My monster? She’s the Hulk on estrogen. We aren’t letting her out, we’re just going to drug her into submission, whatever it takes. Anyway, the whole cyst/pain/fear cycle has thrown my wifely role into a tizzy. So I wear the ring, hold the name, and feel quite completely like a total wife fraud, and it sucks.
4. “I am a mother.”
Sure. I gave birth to these people. But somewhere along the way my idea of parenting equals children doing what you want them to do fell by the wayside. (Er, age 2?) Now I find myself playing defensive linebacker FOR my children. A lot. Which leads to spending a lot of time thinking about Moses whining to God about all the Hebrews, and Elizabeth explaining to her friends and family why her son was eating bugs and wearing weird clothes and living in the desert. Yeah. Liz, I SO get it. Can we have coffee some day in heaven?
Anyone else have trouble living up to the imaginary expectations you built in your head?