Strange indeed

So yesterday, at therapy, the better part of my session was spent examining the fact that I actually sincerely feel guilty (if not ashamed) when I am recognized and praised publicly for my work. This stems, in part from the fact that I have had a series of fortunate events, of late, mostly regarding competitive awards for academic research and teaching.

I get this sick feeling in my stomach when people signal me out. And at the same time, I go to all the effort of applying for, or submitting to said competitions, and in fact when I am in "quest mode" am quite single-minded in my pursuit.

Why am I never happy? (well it isn't exactly unhappiness, it is rather, immediate self-doubt)

So our session also elucidated a connection between this, and the fact that I feel like I have somehow been afforded more than my fair share in life, like I have had an extra helping slopped onto my cosmic plate, and I feel a deep sense of guilt for having such privilege.

"What privileges do you feel you have been given that are somehow unfair, or exceptional?" she asks me, pointedly, and I squirm.
"I don't know... well, one is that things have always seemed to come to me easily, while I see other people struggle. uh... I don't know... We weren't terribly wealthy growing up, and yet, I never wanted for anything. I was always supported by my parents. That has to be somehow unfair, doesn't it, when there are so many people that are mistreated by the people that are supposed to nurture them?" I keep looking for more privileges... "And, well," I pause, "I just feel like sometimes things are done differently for me, than for others, and I don't understand why I deserve special treatment... and yet, I accept is, as it is my norm." And then it occurs to me, that nagging thing, the one that I always carry around my neck, "And... I was born an American. Isn't that the most unfair advantage of all?"


I have quite a bit to chew on for our next session. I go home. I don't get everything I want after all, at least not the instant gratification that I had desperately hoped for, but I remind myself that not everything can go my way. At least not every time, just because I wish it so. So I survive another sleepless night, deciding to do administrative work from 3-6 am, to at least make use of my insomnia. I get up and snuggle with a warm-skinned seven-year-old, that wraps herself around my naked body. We make it to school, singing all the way down the path to her classroom, "but if you wanna live in NY city, honey you know I will..." and I take my kitty to the vet, because she has an abscess that seems to have chosen to explode between when I made the appointment (yesterday morning) and when I came home. And the veterinarian is a wonderfully sweet warm man, and we talk about Mexican film, and share mutual recommendations. He likes my movie star name, and my cat's movie star name, and then I tell him my kid's name and he glows. And before I leave we have exchanged emails, and I have promised to send him more bibliography on Mexican film, and then the strangest of all, he says, "wonderful, I look forward to hearing from you, and this one's on the house." He escorts me from the office which smells of simple green, carrying Martina in her box, happily now munching on "greenies" which are cat treats that she gets each time.

And I smile, because he says, "I know there is no reason for this, but I am proud of you!"
but I also reassure myself that this is not the normal course of events, and am left wondering, as usual. Why me?