Sloths don't only live in trees

So when I thought about overcoming adversity it ended up taking me to kind of a dark place, since I've really never done anything but succumb to it. I hope it's not too much of a downer. It just kinda came flowing out once I started.

-Nikki

I do not consider myself a particularly hardworking person, nor have I ever been one. As a child school came fairly easily to me so I came to believe that it would always be easy. Once it ceased to be uniformly easy for me I began to simply despise the subjects that I had trouble with, rather than doubling my efforts to conquer them. I did the bare minimum in everything and did perfectly well enough. This pattern continued throughout my academic career and though I graduated with a perfectly respectable GPA, I failed to sufficiently prepare myself for college and ended up delaying it. Once I finally got myself there I fiddled around, changed my mind and major, transferred back home to community college, and dragged the process of earning and AA out over four years, doing just the minimum required of me all along. During this time I worked in retail, although with a bit of effort and application I could have done better, despite my lack of a completed education. Yet I couldn't see fit to do more than the bare minimum. Now don't get me wrong, I worked hard at the jobs I had, but I didn't do more than was truly necessary.

The only times I've ever felt like I've truly worked, done satisfying, productive work, has been during my time in the theatre. I spent every extracurricular moment from age 14 onward either performing in a show, working tech for a show, or assisting with drama camp. During a show I will stay long after rehearsal is through, work tirelessly at home to build props or costumes, and I will sing myself hoarse until all my songs are as perfect as I can manage. Then I'll beg for more. The sloth disappears in the theatre.

That's my claim to fame, my one redeeming list of accomplishments to rescue me from being labeled “lazy” or “useless”. And I hate that that is true about me, but it is.

Now in adulthood I have yet to ever begin an actual career and I am now a stay at home mom, which, yes, is a most worthwhile thing to do, no argument here, but I cannot help still feeling useless. Those who know me know that my seven month old son has spent the bulk of his life dealing with a serious health issue, and so, therefore, have my husband and I. At 6 weeks old my son started having seizures, and after months of tests, and countless drugs tried, they persisted. He was finally diagnosed with epilepsy, and just a month ago he underwent major brain surgery to stop his seizures. Long story short, we've had a rough half year, and much of it has been spent seeking solace with my friends and family near and far while we sat with our hands tied and our hearts breaking. Far too much of that solace came in the form of compliments about my personal strength and fortitude for coping with our situation, as if it was my choice and I was choosing to be strong and was suddenly a record-breakingly awesome mother. My loving friends have stated countless times how I'm a super mom for getting through this and they marvel at my strength.

I hate it. I hate this praise. I am not strong. Enduring this ordeal doesn't prove that I'm a great mother or a particularly pragmatic or resourceful one. I've been along for the ride. I've simply handed my sick kid over to doctors and pleaded “Fix Him!”. I haven't done anything worthy of praise, nor have I done anything above and beyond the call of duty. I've done what is required of me. My list of requirements is just a bit different than some other moms, so, by comparison, it may seem somehow more impressive. It's not, though. I'm only surviving, striving each day to know what to do and do it. I'm no different than any other mother who loves her child.

I suppose you could argue that I could, somehow, have “run away” from the problem, but I'd be a monster, so I'll give myself that much credit: No I did not abandon my child. But there is nothing extraordinary about what I've done for him. This is particularly galling to me because I had such great plans for my boy and being a parent. I had planned to give him every opportunity to learn from and early age, and to expose him to all manner of activities so he can find what he loves most and prepare himself to do it for the rest of his life. I wanted him to have more than me, to have everything. Then he got sick, and fell behind developmentally and suddenly all my dreams of rearing a brilliant child who would excel at anything he chose to attempt, were wiped away.

It had been my desire to work hard with and for him, to do more than I'd done in most other areas of my life. I wanted to work for him because I loved him, as I was always able to work for the theatre, because I loved it, but once he got sick I was doing all I could just to keep my head above the water. So again, I was doing the bare minimum.

****************************************

Luckily we are now out of the woods with my baby's illness, and normal life can truly begin. My great plans for parenthood may now commence. I have high hopes that I will, in time, be able to achieve all my goals for my child's education, that I won't let him down with my innate laziness. I also hope that I can attain my own career goals and feel like a complete and fulfilled person who is contributing to society, not merely a dependent and a burden.

This is an exciting time in my life, and I hope that the useful me can indeed conquer the lazy me and stand victorious atop a tower of achievements at the end of my life so that my children can emulate me, rather than use me a an example of choices to avoid.