The Weakness In Me

I was stuck on this prompt for a long time, with no idea what to write about. I know my Bear makes the prompts intentionally vague at times, and wants to hear my interpretation, rather than providing me with a specific area to focus on as he did last month. I know this, but I couldn’t help staring at the screen wondering over and over what he meant by those words. People talk about weaknesses all the time. I have a well-known weakness for cake, and something of a reputation among friends and family. Somehow, I don’t think this is the sort of thing he meant.I have a similar reputation for the deep and abiding love I share with my duvet. This one is a genuine issue, as I frequently fall asleep ridiculously early in the evening, effectively standing him up for phone calls and dates with John Oliver. While this is something I feel desperately guilty about, I can’t help feeling this isn’t quite the sort of weakness I want to be writing about.

I have written before that I have bouts of nocturnal anxiety. I write this very post at four in the morning after being woken up by some unprompted flash of dread that something from my past (what, exactly? My brain refuses to tell me) will catch up with me and I’ll be arrested and impoverished and lose my son and all manner of terrible things. While I struggle to be rational, and talk myself down in the hope of getting back to sleep, I am not completely comfortable thinking of this as a weakness. That sort of thinking is unhelpful, and in cases of legitimate mental health issues like depression it can be positively dangerous. Spending huge chunks of my nights drenched in unease is frustrating, inconvenient, and incredibly tiring, but it is not a weakness.

My weakness is doubt. Doubt in myself, doubts that I am what he wants, what he needs. I worry that I won’t be enough, and he’ll want to try being poly again. That I’m not sexy enough, adventurous enough. That there’s not enough of me to go round and I have to choose between being a rubbish sub/girlfriend or being a crap mum. That I’m boring, and awkward. That the distance and time apart is too much, that he doesn’t want to waste five, seven, maybe ten more years on someone he only sees for a few days a month. That my blog posts are self-indulgent, whiney waffle.

I know he loves me, and that he’s proud of me. He has never said or done anything to make me think this way. He is wonderful and affectionate and tells me regularly, even daily, how much he loves me. I’m so lucky. I shouldn’t think like this. But sometimes I do, and it’s definitely a weakness.

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