You know… you’re not really all that great.
Excuse me? Hah… um… what a thing to say. Who just says that to someone?
Well, we’re stuck in this elevator. Might as well say something. Besides, I’ve never really liked you.
Oh. Go on, then, I guess. Tell me how you REALLY feel.
Okay. I will. You know that phrase, “Jack of all trades, master of none”? That’s you, only at life. You are pretty good at just about everything, but you aren’t really good at anything. And to be completely honest, some things you just plain suck at.
Suck? That’s a little harsh.
Yeah, but it’s true. You suck at cleaning house. You suck at paying bills on time. Sometimes, you even suck at being a wife and mom.
Woah, woah, woah. Hold on there. I’ll admit, there are some areas where I’m lacking, but really? I’m a pretty damn good mom. I do the best that I can, and I realize that I’m not perfect. But that doesn’t make me suck. And wife? That’s a work in progress, friend. Constantly evolving, ever changing. We communicate, we try to fix things, and we both give and take in this relationship. We have sucky days, but neither of us suck.
…I guess I can give you that. But what about work? You aren’t really very good at your job.
My job? That’s one place I allow pride in myself! I take good care of my patients, and do the best studies I can! I am constantly trying to learn more, and be better. I have had patients tell me specifically that I was the best part of their stay in the hospital, and that means something to me. I work every time I’m asked, and I work my butt off. I can’t say everyone I work with likes me, but I go out of my way to be easy to work with! You can NOT tell me I suck at my job.
I never really thought of it that way. You are pretty good at what you do. Your body, though? Kind of leaves something to be desired.
Oh, I know. I’ve felt that way for years. Only, it’s a little silly. MORE than a little silly. I don’t have perfect hair, or dress the best. I’ve struggled with my weight and my body image. I’ve looked in the mirror and cried before. But… I’m learning not to feel that way any more. I realized a while ago that only I could make me feel badly about myself, and I’m choosing not to do that. I’m choosing not to hear, I’m choosing not to listen. I’m choosing to ignore YOU.
Me? You can’t ignore me. I’m you.
I know. But I’m tired of what you have to say. I can ignore you because you don’t have anything nice to say. Because I’m tired of letting you tear me down. Because I just realized something.
I.
Like.
Me.
This post is a response to the following prompt: “Think of a person you don’t like, and describe what you might say if you had to share an elevator ride together. Then describe what happens when the elevator breaks down. For six hours.”
