K is for Kryptonite.
That stuff that saps Superman’s strength.
Becoming a special needs parent is what launched my superhero career, autism supermom to the rescue.
But there is never the super without the downside. The kryptonite.
And what exactly is MY kryptonite, you ask? The source of my vulnerability?
Good question. I’m not entirely sure. It appears to be my own brain, sabotage from within.
I am tired, weak; feeling so far from any semblance of regular humanness, let alone a super-powered self.
Ever since I turned 50 and my gall bladder went rogue on me, I have been feeling the spiral story of my life headed in the wrong direction, away from the warming glow of our home star and into the gloaming. Hurtling toward night.
And because I have these wonderful children, I don’t give in to it. I still pull on my big girl pants each and every morning and get the essential jobs of mothering done. But it gets harder with each passing day.
Everything takes longer than it should. Requires more and more of a me that feels increasingly less and less.
I know that somewhere inside me, buried deep, my powers still exist. The shiny diamonds of my joy and strength.
But dispelling the kryptonite, recognizing those green gem-like crystals of doom and sifting them out from all the other, essential minerals in my bedrock…
Well, that’s the task now isn’t it?
That’s the task ahead.
Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday writing meme. And yes, I know it's Saturday today, not Thursday. See above mention of how everything takes too long these days. K is also for "kicking my ass" which is what life is doing right now.
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