Today brought some sorrow on its wings. It delivered an unwanted message from my marvelous neighbour country. It told us that sexism, racism, bigotry and xenophobia do not matter if you hold the right privileges. That one can still win a position of power despite multiple sexual assault accusations. That boasting about sexual assault is ok. That boasting about grabbing people ‘by the pussy’ is nothing more than locker room talk… and that talk like that is acceptable. I could go on, but I think the disheartening and disturbing reality of this message is clear. However, there is always hope, and hope is a powerful thing.
Have I ever told you about the time that I was swindled? Seduced by an impossible idea and so enamoured with it that I caused myself inevitable hardship? It really all boiled down to a word, but the grandiose and appealing idea of that word meant everything to me. The word in question is cure. The hope… that Graves Disease could somehow be cured if I did the right things…
Admitting to myself that this word, this idea could not belong to me was more difficult than dealing with the actual consequences of my reality, living with Graves Disease.
“You’re too nice, it’s off-putting”. These words struck me in such a strange way. They left me feeling both embarrassed and insulted, stuck in a weird limbo, reviewing all of the once positive memories that led to that comment.
Let’s rewind – as someone who temps and freelances for a living, I often have a performance review at the end of a contract. My positive attitude has always been a point of highlight, but this time it was apparently a point of pain.