I was berating myself. More gently than normal, but I was still berating myself because I wasn’t flying through all the things I needed to do at superhuman speed. Sometimes I astound myself at the amount of stuff I manage to get done in a day, but this wasn’t one of those days. It wasn’t one of those weeks.
I’m slowly learning that self-kindness is healthier than mentally bashing myself into a pulp, but hey, old habits die hard. The best I could do was …
‘I just have to keep telling myself I’m not a superhero.’ I moaned to my sister-in-law.
‘Hey, being superhero-like is a part-time job. That’s why they’ve got alter egos. Even they can’t run around superhero-ing all the time.’
‘I am a dumbass. Why did I not realise this before?’ I mentally scanned through a list of superheroes and heroines and their alter egos. ‘Huh.’ I said. ‘I’m gonna use that.’
And I have been. I’ve so been using it. Every time I remind myself I’m not a superheroine, I now also remind myself that even if I was a superheroine, it wouldn’t be full-tilt, full-blast, full-time all of the time.
It’s a little ridiculous, but it helps. The image of iconic characters without their super powers on their off days helps me on mine. To remember I’m human. And sometimes that’s not a bad thing.
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