My place

I wander around, trying to figure out how I got here exactly

It’s not that I have no memories of who I am, or how I got here

I just don’t know my place in the world.

With my friends I am carefree but with my family I am mature

With my kids, I am a caring mother, yet I don’t know how to be a good mother

I give my husband all the love I can, but even then, I don’t think it’s enough.

I feel that I am not contributing to society. Still, at the same time, I dislike society and all of its antics.

I hate the way I act because of social media and all of my friends posting such successful memories with their families, yet I hear from my kids that they love me with all of their hearts.

I hurt inside because I feel that I am failing my family by not doing what they think is right for the family yet they taught me to do what I think is right, not what others think is right for me.

I stay up at night so I can hear my children breathe at night, just so I don’t have to go through what my parents went through, yet I am barely awake in the morning to be functional.

I feel ashamed thinking about the past, not just my past, but history's past because the blame is placed against people like me yet my family's history is also turbulent, with wrongful prosecution and needless violence.

I cry at night thinking that I am not good enough for those around me and those who don’t know me.

However, I try to stay optimistic.

I put on a smile whenever I see someone sad.

I make jokes to cheer up those that feel depressed.

I hide my regret, my anger, my guilt, my shame, and my insecurities, just so no one has to worry about me. I place all their worries on my shoulders and try to help them feel better about themselves.

Because, somehow, that makes me feel that I am doing good. I think that I am being more successful by making their lives easier. And by doing that, it should make my life easier.

Right?