As I navigate through life, it feels like I’m a human pinata, constantly being divvied up and shared amongst everyone but me. It’s as if I’ve become a walking buffet, offering slices of myself to anyone with a fork and a napkin. I’m everywhere except where I need to be and that is usually a recipe for great discontent.

In my therapy sessions, I find myself unravelling the mystery of my inability to grasp the notion that I might actually be a decent mother. It’s like trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube blindfolded – frustrating, confusing, and occasionally comical. Occasionally there are tears which shine through amidst thoughts of the awesome humans I have birthed. They’re kind, thoughtful, generous, compassionate, hilarious and so much more that my heart swells with pride at the thought of them. Then, I promptly burst into tears when my therapist tries to give me credit for that because what in the imposter syndrome is this? Anyway, that’s work in progress and I’m slowly starting to accept that I may just have had some kind of influence on these awesome humans.

You see, I seem to have I’ve mastered the art of giving advice that I never follow, like a GPS that directs everyone else to their destination while I remain perpetually lost in my own labyrinth of indecision. I can be an amazing keyboard advisor, I can also help people work through their problems like they were my own but the catch is that I don’t. Working on MY problems, that is. Being an inherent people pleaser for the longest time, seeking validation and acceptance has had me undermining my own strength, not recognising that I’m far stronger than I think I am.

The concept of self-care for me is like a foreign language – I understand the words, but the syntax eludes me. It’s like trying to teach a cat to fetch; amusing to contemplate but ultimately futile. If self-sabotage were an Olympic sport, I’d be a gold medalist. I excel at tripping over my own shoelaces while everyone else glides effortlessly by in their shiny, untarnished sneakers. Though I must admit that I have a plethora of shiny sneakers that I love to wear so I, too, have the same shiny, untarnished sneakers – literally and otherwise. The mind understands so much – it’s the heart that needs a lot of convincing at times. Actually, most of the time. It’s as if I’ve subscribed to the newsletter of self-doubt, receiving daily updates on all the ways I fall short while everyone else seems to have snagged VIP passes to the Confidence Convention. You wouldn’t think that if you knew me. I often get told that I come across as a very confident person who seems to have life put together.

I’ve become a connoisseur of chaos, savouring the flavour of disorder while everyone else enjoys a balanced meal of stability and peace. It’s like dining on a seven-course meal of mayhem, complete with a side of existential crisis. I don’t go out looking for chaos. It actively seeks me. Is it because I try too hard not to lead a chaotic life? Is that it? Trying too hard? Because, oh my goodness, make it stop!

As I ponder the intricacies of my existence, I can’t help but wonder if I’m just a supporting character in everyone else’s story, playing the role of the quirky sidekick while the main cast takes centre stage. I constantly find myself being overly available to help sort other people’s problems but have to deal with abandonment when it comes to mine. The therapy sessions have been coming in to good use because I can now compartmentalise and figure out that this is just an internal projection that needs work. There’s no one coming to help me. I have to get this done by myself.

The mirror reflects a distorted image of a person I barely recognize – a funhouse version of myself, all wonky angles and exaggerated flaws. It’s like living in a Picasso painting, where the lines between reality and perception blur into a whimsical, nonsensical dance.In a world where everyone else seems to have it all figured out, I’m the jigsaw puzzle missing a crucial piece, forever incomplete and slightly askew. It’s like being the punchline to a cosmic joke, the one everyone else gets while I scratch my head in confusion.

Work in progress.