One cannot easily measure all types of progress, especially relating to personality and growth. Society seeks to do this by placing titles on achievements, which somehow are weighed in the eyes of the world to be meaningful…or not…as if achievement alone was necessary to profess that individuals were who they were born to be.
My last several weeks have been spent in moments of deep contemplation. I halted what I had been working on and felt completely stuck–for no reason I could adequately conclude. I had no desire to cook, to clean, to write, to post, to live, to love. I’m sure I was a fairly miserable person to share company with during those days.
Finally, during a conversation with someone dear to me, the feelings began to surface. I was uncovering yet another layer of an issue I had buried long ago (one I thought was no longer affecting me). Alas, the issue reared and together we fought as I cried and fought and cried again. I took it to bed with me, only to wake hours later to the stillness of 3 a.m. and a sadness larger than the darkness looming in a moonless sky.
Still, I endured and processed, dug deeper, and am finally feeling a renewed sense of what “whole” means.
I won’t be hooded with a doctorate for what I went through for this awareness. I didn’t earn a Grammy last weekend. And, I certainly am not eligible for a Super Bowl ring next, either.
But, I am a better person. I am becoming a better mother and wife. I am learning how to lean on others and support others, even in the midst of strife and internal turmoil. And, I am practicing positivity without perfection.
Though these processes cannot be measured with an IQ test or formulated as a bulleted point on a resume, they are part of my life. And, I am becoming better than I was because of them. Accolades will never justly measure the magnitude of the human spirit.