We have a hero problem

Say shero one more time

Selfless.

Sacrificing.

Martyr.

When we tell stories about women, we rarely call them what they are.

Brave.

Determined.

Hero.

I mean sure, kids say “my mom is my hero” all the time (and they really mean it), but somehow the coexistence of mom and hero neutralize each other for everyone else.

The mom kind of hero is a different kind; the invisible kind, the biblical kind, the assumed kind, the angel-in-the-house kind.

Photo by Vitolda Klein on Unsplash

The kinds of people who lift up that kind of heroism, the mom heroism that’s a dead ringer for servitude, are often the same kinds of people who deny women the bodily autonomy and support they need in order to survive the demands of the unrelenting heroism required of them.

They don’t care about our wellbeing.

They want undying sacrifice delivered with a smile.

They want us to go until we break.

Most women are happy to do it. We don’t know any other way.

Photo by Dale de Vera on Unsplash

Really, it’s a shame we don’t think of ourselves as heroes.

Because our compulsion for heroism is killing us.

From high school until very recently, my life’s motto was power through. If you had asked me why I did it, I wouldn’t have even comprehended the question.

I did it because it needed to be done.

I did it because I regarded every single scenario that crossed my path as my responsibility. Something I needed to fix and I could fix.

I did it because if I didn’t, I would be a failure.

I never saw what I did as heroic. I just thought I’d be worthless if I didn’t do it all.

I never saw what I did as brave. I just knew I hated myself whenever I couldn’t do it all.

I never saw what I did — full stop. I only tracked the things I hadn’t accomplished, running my mind over them in the night like I was tonguing a canker sore.

I was on a walk with a good friend the other day and she told me she had finally, as a last resort, reached out to her doctor about antidepressants.

She listed the many horrors she was going through and the thousands of ways she’d tried to cope without outside help before finally calling for reinforcement.

I could tell from her tone that she wanted me to reassure her she’d fought hard enough. She wanted me to tell her she’d been a good soldier.

I’ve been there so many times myself, beating myself up for every whiff of weakness, convinced that if I could just push through everything forever, I’d have a good life. Heroes never falter, do they? We turn to the heroes all around us for affirmation that we are brave enough, strong enough, good enough.

These are the moments where we have a choice between either reinforcing the impossible expectations we put on ourselves and each other, or practicing the very awkward and scary task of talking about our lives in a different way.

Instead of reassuring my friend she had fought hard enough, I told her it would have been okay to have not fought at all.

Photo by Mohamed Nohassi on Unsplash

It would have been okay to call the doctor as soon as things felt off.

It would have been okay to not push through as much as she possibly could.

It is okay to not take everything on.

It is okay to want more for ourselves than this.

It’s okay to let it go. Even if no one else picks it up, but maybe especially if no one else does.

It’s hard to have to tell yourself you are still worthy when you don’t take on as much as you possibly can.

It’s hard to learn to love yourself when you’re not a hero.

But you get better at it. We can get better at it, together.