Photo by Devan
Collusion, by Jen Lee
It is working in collusion with her body--that part of her that is afraid. Most people want to know their greatness, but those who get a glimpse know: it can be debilitating.
The chorus of inner voices takes a deep breath and crescendos: "From she who is given much, much is required." She sees her own chest of treasures and slumps. Much. Much. Much. That pounding you hear is the construction of her coffin. The voices of her fears have already finished this story, speckled with words like "unfulfilled promise" and "great potential". The tragedy of her failure, dripping with her own guilt and culpability. She must not be the villain of this tale, but she cannot see herself as the heroine.
She will have to settle for victim.
No one can blame the victim. Nothing is her fault. And so the part of her that is afraid makes a deal with her body--with or without the rest of her knowing. If her body will help her avoid responsibility, will prevent her from ever having to step into her greatness (and failing), she will make it the center of her world.
Her body is happy to oblige.
Soon her days and hours are filled with feeling poorly, with looking diligent as she hunts down the source of her ailments with endless appointments and tests and experts. No one can blame her--she has tried it all.
The outcome of the story is the same as the voices of her fears prophesied, with one exception. She has achieved one success. She has shifted the blame. No longer the villain, she is the doe-eyed victim of Unseen Forces. No one would ever guess--including the part of herself that likes not to know better--that the Unseen Force is a suicidal poison.
What hope has she? Only this: to wake up. To touch that snake called Responsibility and wrap it around her neck. Her one last hope is to be the heroine. To pull back the curtain on her little scheme--to let her body and her fears know the jig is up.
She can save herself.