the fear of being unworthy
when we wake up, our brain sparks with thoughts. usually, the first ones are about what’s important to accomplish throughout the day, or about our immediate physical or psychological condition. these are called penumbral thoughts1 & they can affect our mood from those first drowsy seconds to the rest of our day2. it’s not guaranteed that the first emotion provoked from the first thought will stick until next morning, but it means that sometimes we get our nervous system too worked up before we’ve even brushed our teeth.
i wanna talk about this penumbral thought i had this morning.
my eyes weren’t even open when i thought “i wanna study math,” before feeling a familiar wave of fear shiver down my shoulders. i backed up, second guessed myself. “i’m bad at math,” i thought next. then i frowned, third guessed myself. my math teacher would’ve never said that about me. it was, as always, something i’d heard from my family.
“you’re good at drawing so you should work as an illustrator or a designer. what do you mean you don’t like it? fine, at least finish that course. you’re good with people & studying behaviour, why won’t you enroll to be psychiatrist? you love reading & writing & you’re so argumentative, you should be a lawyer. you’re good with computers, why don’t you try for a forensic position like your loser father studied to, but was too lazy to get a job? ah, it’s too hard? really? wait, a teacher? do you really wanna be a teacher? you? why the hell do you wanna be a doctor, where did that come from? c’mon, you won’t survive a week working at a supermarket, don’t be silly. christ, why can’t you just figure out what the hell you’re gonna do with your life? if you keep that rhythm you’re going to rot into your 50s just like your father. you know he died without accomplishing anything in his life, right? do you really wanna end up like him?”
(this makes them sound so cruel, lol).
i was 17 when i thought i would die the day i graduated from high school. i was certain of it, like a fact. later, when i had a heart attack, i felt ready. i laid on my bedroom’s floor, closed my eyes, & waited for the sweet embrace of death. i didn’t panic, even though i was shaking like a leaf & my chest hurt like i was being crushed. i waited & waited & minutes later i opened my eyes to nothing. the shaking had stopped, my heartbeat was steady, & my body hurt like hell. i frowned, disappointed. it had been a panic attack. after that event, i couldn’t accept i was still alive. i cried every night, unable to believe i was still breathing & walking in this goddamn planet.
i only started feeling like my life “was a thing” after i got medicated at 22, but even then, i was still bound by the fear constructed around me by my family. i understand them—they’re trying to keep me out of the misery that consumed & killed my father, but what they don’t realize is that they laid the perfect ground for that same misery to blossom. they’ve built fear where they should’ve directed me towards trust.
i’m not bad at math. i like math, i like physics… i don’t like geometry, chemistry, & biology. but i sat there at 7am, feeling my muscles tense under my skin & a chilling sensation in my stomach as if i was about to fall from a tree. “i’m scared of math, i’m scared of trying to understand math & failing to,” i explained myself. then i thought a little harder.
“why am i scared of failing to understand math?”
alas, i wasn’t scared of math. or failing to understand math. i was scared of not being worthy of understanding math. not feeling, being worthy. like it’s something only the chosen ones are born to know, & since i’m a loser just like my father, i should be out of sight, tied to my family’s bedpost because i’m dumb, they’re smart, & i can’t survive on my own. i couldn’t possibly be good with numbers; i don’t deserve to learn math now because i didn’t choose to hone that skill when i was 10 like i did with drawing, so it’s not worth touching it again.
as if i’m not worthy of improving, of being better.
like, what the hell?
but i’m happy to know about this now. i trust my insights as much as i trust my heart. i know better. i know my family is just dumb adults living for the first time, just like me. it’s everyone’s first time in this world. & if they can’t handle being called dumb, well, too bad for them. they’ve made me feel dumb, incompetent, limited, & worthless my whole life. maybe because they were happy to see me excel where they couldn’t… but dumb me just wanted to be like them, to belong in the same space as them. i never wanted to be “different,” i never wanted to be “like my father,” but that was the label they glued on my forehead.
the truth is, i’m nothing of that. i’m not like my father, i’m not bad at math, i’m not a loser, i’m not rotten, i’m not incompetent, i’m not worthless. i never was & i will never be. i’m smart & strong & when i care, i learn so fast my teachers feel both scared & proud of me (& of themselves, of course). i excel because deep down, i don’t mind if i fail. i don’t think i’m falling behind when i respect my time or my process. i ask the questions i need to ask because i’m not scared of not knowing something. i’ve never felt embarrassed in a classroom. geez, i felt furious when some teachers thought less of me; that low self-esteem didn’t stem from school. i was never scared of not knowing, i only feel that when my family say something or act in that tone of “you silly thing, sit & watch because i know better than you.”
this was never about me.
dear reader, i’m about to be insane.
Fedrigo, Virginia, et al. “Penumbral Thoughts: Contents of Consciousness upon Waking.” PLoS ONE, vol. 18, no. 12, 14 Dec. 2023, pp. e0289654–e0289654, https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0289654.↩
Hyun, Jinshil, et al. “Waking up on the Wrong Side of the Bed: The Effects of Stress Anticipation on Working Memory in Daily Life.” The Journals of Gerontology: Series B, vol. 74, no. 1, 15 May 2018, pp. 38–46, https://doi.org/10.1093/geronb/gby042.↩