Monday, I roasted a kabocha squash, and pureed that into a curried sauce, which I simmered chicken in and served over fragrant basmati rice. **My whole family ate squash for dinner and no one complained. (Yes, I did write that, and re-read it, and left it there.) Successful vegetable sneaking is some sort of sick domestic thrill, and I am not too proud to admit – I was thrilled, because my husband HATES squash.
The next day, I felt a distant sensation trying to creep its selfish way into my psyche. It started as a feeling that I might be forgetting something. I caught my mind picking at it, off and on through the day. What was I forgetting? At some point in the day, I captured it. It was the feeling that I’m not good enough.
There is a nuance here – it was not the *thought* that I’m not good enough, because I don’t think that. It was a physical and whole-body *feeling* that manifested from the smallest cells, outward into the whole collected community of cells that is me. A part of me knows, with absolute certainty, I am not good enough, and that part doesn’t give me many breaks. We are not friends.
Since I had lovingly hand-crafted a sneaker-squash dinner, including only organic ingredients and delicious curry, just the night before, I was feeling particularly good enough. Thus, my response to the creepy interloper trying to broadcast its way out, was to feel amused, slightly startled, and to laugh carelessly at the ridiculous inaccuracy. Next came a low and surly growl at the feeling, that may have involved swearing – if I were not currently (again) in a phase of intentionally reducing my swear velocity.
Today, the kids are watching a movie. I have no guilt. The house is a mess, and I am writing instead of cleaning. In fact, I was walking toward my plan to clean the kitchen and shuffle the laundry, and the minute I started their movie, I practically ran to my lap top. I ate some caramel popcorn on the way. It’s 10 am. I don’t feel the need to duck my head and hunch forward a little. Thank you kabocha squash!
Were I to conjure up a more overt set of points, I would say – believing in yourself is really hard. Actually learning to feel good enough – well, that’s harder. Sticking with it, and finding the sweet spot, maybe that’s what feels hardest, but I’m getting more glimpses, and little moments, and those feel like something involving swears and the word “awesome.”