Re-parenting our Worth: a Personal Essay

There is a common saying in the writing world, “write what you know”, which I think likely explains why in my teenage years, I was a prolific writer, and then as my rather “supreme” knowledge base mysteriously dropped off, so did the production of my work. Like many of my cohort, I've arrived in the younger bracket of middle age startled by the realisation that perhaps I just don't know very much at all. Startled and awed by the profound increase of shared knowledge and experience all around me, made available by the internet, our day to day existence, regardless of our efforts, can seem humblingly middling.

I think many will relate when I say that it sometimes feels like other people are following a script, complete with permissions of behaviour, that I just didn't get. The fact that those who I have perceived as particularly well scripted, when interviewed, have revealed that they struggle with exactly the same looming sense of inadequacy, suggests otherwise. But the feeling remains, all the same. And then we arrive in the era of Covid-19.

There are an incredible number of things we don't know right now, and indeed the sense that people who should probably have some sort of script, such as our national leaders, do not in fact know much more than us, can leave things looking rather stark. I'm sure I'm not alone when I say I have trouble judging any sort of political action right now as fully adequate or not, as national leaders scramble to secure the economy and the wellness of our nations as a whole. Outside for a play in the rare UK sunshine in our courtyard, my elderly neighbour and I maintained social distancing while we talked things over. I expressed my uncertainty and asked for his guidance based on his life experiences, which are ample. The response that I received was, there's been nothing like this since his parent's lifetime. That he is worried that others of his generation are treating this like a cold war threat; something that may or may not come to pass, when indeed it appears to be something that is inevitable—we are not waiting for it to occur or not. We are actively in the muck of it.

People are panicking and panic buying, trying to buy their way to reassurance and safety, which is exactly what we've been taught by the system in which we struggle to exist. Material items feel safe; we can barter with these, we can care for our family with these. Many of us live paycheck to paycheck without savings, myself included, and the resounding fear that jobs that are deemed valuable (those which are corporately controlled and so provide a steady income) will choose to risk workers over the loss of profit is profound.

Indeed, it would seem that we no longer believe in the presence of our communities without the reassurance of a bribe, and that we can no longer believe in our fundamental worth without our ability to produce, and that perhaps describes the crux of the tremendous grief I've been experiencing as of late.

I've recently been written off work for disability, an event which escalated suddenly when I, in a rather desperate attempt to provide additional income for my family, essentially “worked myself into the ground”, (or in a much more literal sense, the hospital). I was then forced to start talking to my doctors about the many problems I'd been brushing aside as of late, because as my symptoms have worsened, so has my ability to cast them aside and carry on. Not being able to work has had a significant impact on my image of self and self worth.

I have always professed myself to be a believer that people carry inherent worth and value, regardless of their work status. A man who I cared for once would discuss this with me frequently during my shifts; he wanted a job, because he sought the reassurance that others would see him with pride. I assured him that his value was intrinsic, his contribution to his community self evident. I would outline his impact; he was kind, patient, present. He had the innate ability to produce joy and laughter in others with a sparkling and clever sort of charisma. “No,” he would reply. I need them to be proud.”

I get it. I want a job to mark my value and my contribution. I have a big brain and a lot of knowledge and it doesn't feel like I'm actually succeeding in my own value unless I'm doing something difficult with it.

A friend today said “isn't it strange that the voice we use for others and the voice we use for ourselves is so different”, and wow, isn't she right? I would never question another person's intrinsic value. But for myself? Maybe some of you feel this way as well. We are certainly being forced to examine this in greater focus than ever before, as a global community.

How do we change that voice though? How do we re-parent ourselves to understand that capitalist achievement is not worth? Well, my first step is actually writing something. I think I've been waiting for a while to know enough to actually say something. But when people pass away, we don't hold their life to the standard of absolute perfection. We hold it to the standard of memory, and community. And so maybe the standard for me writing something doesn't have to be ultimate knowledge. Perhaps the intention of community healing and communication is enough.

And then? My re-parenting is starting with this personal essay, and then moving on to some coffee. I'll indulge my more whimsical side and do yoga, and I'll accept that even if I can't provide enough scientific articles to support my every action, and even if this isn't curing others, for now it feels good and is curing me. That's a start.