I am hanging up my cape

I am hanging up my cape.

And the spandex.

My W on my chest is headed to the back corner of the closet (since I know one of these days I may need it for a temporary emergency situation).

However, I am currently giving notice to anyone who cares that my Super Woman outfit is no longer in my everyday wardrobe.

The spandex was tired of stretching.  The super powers of strength and invincibility were wearing thin. 

This realization all hit me a few weeks ago as I stood in a parking lot shaking uncontrollably from head to toe, heart racing, and hands quivering.  I had gotten no more than 4 hours of sleep per night in over a week. 

I finally realized I had hit my limit.

Anxiety attacks were all new to me.  The worst part was I had no control over my body.  It terrified me.

Thankfully, I have a medical doctor and a psychologist who understood what had happened to this Type A female.

They both knew it was time to me to retire the costume.

Because it really WAS a costume.

It really wasn’t me.

My emotional and mental body had given out just like a body gives out physically after doing too much yard work in the July Texas heat.

From an early age, I have been Super Girl, taking on tasks that probably fit adults, like being in charge of organizing an entire weekend retreat for the church youth group at age 15 or being responsible for being a one-on-one English tutor at age 12 to a Cambodian girl who did not speak a word of English. Or finishing a bachelor’s and master’s with extra hours left over with an A average in 4 total years.

Anyone who has been a single mom knows that there is no choice but to wear the Super Woman outfit 24/7.   With superhuman strength, I put together an entire metal swingset by myself despite the fact that it said 3 people were required to put it together.  SuperWoman was in full stride when I put together a basketball goal for my sons by myself when the minimum required was 2 adults. 

Sure, Single Mom Super Woman worked a full-time job at the same time as two part-time jobs, all while trying to raise her young sons, working all her work hours around time when they were with their dad or at school.  I worked 3 jobs, all while attending all my boys’ activities/school events and helping with homework.  All while trying to make ends meet while suffering from severe depression.  With family 18-20 hours away.

My Super Woman outfit was worn the entire school year when I drove 4 hours each day for work, a schedule which included teaching a night class and teaching on 5 campuses, despite requests and desperate pleas to change my schedule.  All while attending (after I taught) every football game and basketball game my two boys were involved in all over the state of Texas.

My Super Woman outfit is worn out.

I am hanging it up.

I am admitting publicly that I am worn out.

Not giving up.  Not giving less to my students or my family.

However, when my life circumstances have changed again quite dramatically two times in two years, after all these years of “pretending” like I was Super Woman, my body has decided to admit the truth.

To all The Super Women and Super Men out there, I want to reveal the truth:  your costume is a pretense.

You can only go so far.  You will only go so far pretending.

Pinterest expectations (or the dreams of living up to a Norman Rockwell or Leave it to Beaver reality) will end in disappointment, stress, and ultimately anxiety attacks.

All those expectations of perfection are pretend now---just as pretend as they were with Ward and June Cleaver.  That life didn’t exist then, and the perfect Pinterest life does not exist now---not without consequences that resemble those in the parking lot for me.

We can only do the best we can do.

It is perfectly OK to ask for help, to seek assistance, and to admit that the Super Woman outfit is just a costume.  I have found tremendous love and support from my colleagues who have thought no less of me for my vulnerability.  Instead, several have wrapped me in their arms, listened to my cries, and texted me frequently to check on me.

The Greatest Commandment includes the phrase, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

I just learned that means that I need to love myself AS WELL AS my neighbor. 

This was a new insight for me.

Up until now, my neighbor always came first:  my kids, my family, my husband, my job, my church, my friendships,

And Kim got left behind.

My message to all my other Super Women and Super Men is that it is OK to admit the limits.  To allow yourself to sit.  To allow yourself to rest.  To allow yourself to reboot and heal.  To recover.  To cry.  To grieve.  To crawl into a fetal ball until you can stand again.  To admit you are NOT a super human.

To ask for help.  To admit the frailties.  To allow others to help you.

It is also OK to figure out who you are under the cape.  To move forward.  To choose activities that build you up.  To quit wearing the frigging cape. 

To just be YOU.

Just hang the cape up.  Quit trying to pretend you are something you aren’t---and realize all this is spoken by someone who has worn the cape for most of her almost-50 years.