I think my mom has been telling me that my whole life.
I’m 34. My mom has been proven right over and over again. But somewhere in the past 4 years, it most definitely became all about me.
For the last few years as I’ve tried to come to terms with something so far beyond my control, I’ve turned inward, and sometimes outward (to all the wrong people, places and matter) but mostly I pulled further away from a group of dear people. My friends.
I’ve been angry why no-one has asked me how I am, and I’ve been offended when they have. I’ve put on big smiles, party shoes and faked my way onto tables and the centre of the dancing circle. I’ve drunk too much, I’ve done shots and performed dance offs and all the while I’ve wondered – “do these people not see how hurt I am??”
And then it dawned on me. Its not all about me. Where I’ve been so busy complaining and moping that everyone else isn’t focussing on what Kim wants, or how Kim feels or that Kim isn’t coping… its because:
Their life isn’t revolving around me.
They have their own shit.
Their own weird in-laws, or sick children, or dysfunctional families or long-distance boyfriends.
They’re trying to do the best they can, with what they’ve got. And while they don’t understand what it is that I could possibly be going through, the same can be said for me in understanding where they’re at. The biggest difference, and most notable of this whole realisation – I haven’t even tried to understand them either. And all the while I’ve been moaning that they haven’t bothered to understand me.
I guess it works both ways. And mom was right. Mom is always right. Its not all about me.