This piece is not the most cohesive or exhaustive ramble. Coherent or not, it's a much-needed reflective pause and mental check, and what makes sense to me right now is that I am not only able to admit it, but also that I can articulate it in words.
I have to admit, I've come to discover that one of my toxic traits (for lack of a better term) is obsessing over, overthinking, and even over-exerting myself in trying to fulfil the needs of others. For reasons I'm only beginning to understand, I subconsciously cast myself as the emergency saviour in their lives, compelled by the internal urge to deliver them from every hardship. It’s one thing to go out of your way to help others, but I think there’s an issue when you overplay your hand, wallowing in the delusion that your God-ordained purpose in life is to rescue them. So a few times, I'm beat up, fixated on putting out fires. But guess what? I honestly can't remember many of them asking for help beyond sharing their problems with me. Even worse, I think I'm guilty of accusing others of jumping in to solve my problems when all I really wanted was the relief of a good vent.
This messiah complex of mine comes with a side of control issues—I tend to obsess over having everything just right. I didn't realise it much earlier because I don’t come across as a bossy, domineering choleric (I think). In my previous job, however, I had to chase numbers and hit targets, which made it even more inconceivable that I was stuck. It was difficult to recognise little wins as successes or celebrate the cascading processes leading up to a desired outcome. For the longest time, I didn't feel worthy of my job because nothing was perfect. I'd wake up groggy and return crushed. Right on time, my supervisor pulled me aside to celebrate a tiny leap my project had made and wondered why I wasn't over the moon with excitement. I was clueless, and there, she diagnosed me: perfectionist. Perfectionist. Pretty funny. I didn't believe her till I looked up the meaning.
My disposition used to be that knowing everything and deciding it all from the start distracted me from knocking things down and appearing clueless. Countlessly, on team-based projects, I found myself taking the reins, and many times biting off more than I could chew because somehow, I believed taking on as much responsibility as impossible kept me in the loop of most or all aspects of the project. I hated to be in the dark of anything I deemed important.
It used to be silent screams, wordless irritation and pent up anxiety each time I had to wait for an outcome that wasn't completely or largely dependent upon my efforts or inputs. I wanted to control how I was perceived, avoid surprises, and, worst of all, failure.
I have come a long way since then. Of course, I'm still a work in progress. Maybe I am still my old self, but I'm no longer blind to my self-sabotage.
Now, I think about certainty-uncertainty in a different light, at least.
My love-hate relationship with uncertainty has somehow evolved. I’m not quite sure how, but it might have been shaped or even strengthened by my experience of maternity and postpartum so far. I have since developed a different engagement with uncertainty.
For example, being a doctor, exclusive breastfeeding was a no-brainer. I had everything set. Equipment, spousal support, knowledge? Check. Check. Check. Boy, was I in for a shock! The first few months were tumultuous and abundantly littered with moments of confusion, disappointments, self-judgement, and serendipity. More than anything, it's been a long season of crucial, life-transforming lessons served up daily.
I'm learning, slowly but surely, that the need for complete certainty on every turn quickly drains the joy and wonder out of life. The truth is, uncertainty is an essential aspect of our existence and we should actively make peace with it.
Here's what I'm discovering: on the other side of the quest for absolute certainty often lies needless frustration, rigidity, and even misery. These days, I’m learning to stew in the discomfort of a lack of clarity. Certainty is sometimes a mirage.
Uncertainty enunciates the complexity of life and grants us the liberty of hope, faith, and dreams. I should better embrace the present and, of course, work hard for the future, but not stress or worry so much about all the little details, or the outcomes, because I can never control or fix it all.
Maybe all that is needed is to ask questions and be content that merely asking might be enough. I'm slowly believing that answers are not the only way to approach questions. Maybe the answers to some questions are the questions themselves, more questions, and an admission of uncertainty.