… and I have plenty… apart from the usual hero worship of ‘ unobtainable’ people… (among them are many writers, philosophers and raconteurs…. to whose dizzy heights of reverence I can only aspire to in my head!) …. I also have some very dear friends who make me feel extremely humble, and I class many of them MY heroes….
From those who have suffered life changing illnesses and continue to live their lives to the fullest way that they can… to those who have had gut wrenching losses of children, who had succumbed to the black dog of depression. Then there are those who have overcome massive challenges in their chosen careers, those that have maintained happy relationships for many decades, and those that remain upbeat no matter what seems to challenge them. (How the fuck do they do that?)
When I look at that list…. the upside of it is that I’m proud to be part of their lives. The downside is that I can chart my failures by their successes. Note: this is my perception… not how you see me.
For me, trying to keep to the positives is sometimes frcking challenging … as the past few weeks have been. It will seems a trivial matter for most people, but my dumbass pooch is my world… always there with unconditional love. To snuggle up to when the world seems ‘against’ me. Now she has a condition, which although ‘temporary’ is taking what seems a lifetime to put right …. drained my meagre finances and put me into debt. My worst chuffing nightmare. I’m not so bothered about being confined to barracks because of my financial issues, as I will survive that reasonably well … I’ve [personally] been through a lot worse in my time… even when I had money. That’s been charted and I’ve no need to revisit that…. but nonetheless some days I’m not particularly ok…. and I know better than most that it’s ok not to be ok … but it is bleddy wearing. I’m exhausted.
So I mentally turn to my heroes, to reassure me that I’m doing ok. Most of them have busy and full lives, and I understand that they can’t always be at hand, and I am the sort of person who won’t ‘intrude’ … it’s the way I am… it’s taken me almost 70 years to get this way… and I ain’t chuffing well changing now! I adapt. I appreciate time people take for me. I get on with things as best as I can. I will ask for help if I’m desperate… but only if I’m desperate… I have no wish to be the needy friend… as in my past I’ve had plenty of those … and it becomes toxic. Same as the moaning Minnie…. I have to work bleddy hard not to be that… as I can easily slip into that mode.
So I have to kick my own arse hard at times. But more and more I realise that apart from myself and pooch, there is definitely one constant hero in my life.
My wonderful Mum.
She doesn’t have an entry in any Who’s Who…. or Wikipedia…. she didn’t set the world on fire in any particular field …. except being my mum. My best friend. My fount of knowledge. My inspiration. She was popular, but knew she wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea, it never bothered her, as she always said that she didn’t like everybody either. Good point. She accepted quite easily that everyone had a right to an opinion, but she had a right to hers too.
An aside … The classic always being “Margaret Thatcher? … Silly bleddy bitch!” … no one would ever sway her either.. no matter where her name/picture appeared … those three words were guaranteed to be uttered.
She would help anyone as long as it was appreciated and not taken advantage of. She loved to learn new things every day. She never had a lot out of life … but whilst sometimes a bit miffed about it, she never took the poor me stance. She had grounded common sense. (A rarity nowadays I reckon). She had a moral ethic, respect for everyone .. even the people she positively disliked, as she said they had as much right to do things the way they wanted as she did .. so even though she hated Thatcher with every ounce of her being… she respected that “she had more balls than the chinless wonders that surrounded her” …
I wasn’t always aware of how wise she was… until looking back, with wonderful hindsight, I realise that those things ‘drip fed’ into my psyche … and it wasn’t until the last 20 odd years, and particularly after she died, that I appreciated her influence. I am blessed for that…. many people I know never really got that opportunity… due to many different reasons.
Nowadays I usually look in the mirror and see my Mum… we have conversations… we laugh… we cry … we solve things together.
In the last few weeks I’ve rather neglected her… so wrapped up in my own problems. But I reckon that overnight she gave me a subliminal good talking to. I woke this morning stepping into her shoes again …. before I knew it, I was singing a stupid made up ditty, in the style of Joan Sutherland… I misquoted poetry at the dog… poked my teeth with a toothpick before brushing ….and then brushed my hair, with a final flourish of the hairbrush being thrown on the shelf with a “that’ll do” … putting on face cream with reminder to “moisturise dear … moisturise!”
Dear Mum has come to save the day … my hero! I know will get through this shite state of affairs. I always do. I’m a survivor.
My message is that if you’re struggling today … remember you are your own hero first and foremost… but you must chose who lives in your head! And then there will always be hero who will help somewhere in there.
Thanks Mum. Love and miss you always… thanks for the mental arse kick xxxx