Superman doesn’t live here anymore

I have a confession to make: I’m not Superman.

I’ve played him since my cancer diagnosis and treatment nine years ago. The time has come to lay the cape down.

Superman is this ultra strong invincible force of nature who can turn back time by forcing the Earth to spin the opposite direction. He’s faster than a speeding bullet, stronger than a locomotive, and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

I can do none of those things.

All I did was survive cancer, a disease that was supposed to kill me. While that is one hell of a feat, it doesn’t make me a superhero.

I started feeling the erosion of my super powers when I bought my new-to-me car a year ago. On my previous Honda Pilot, I had placed the Superman shield in the front license plate holder. When I brought the new one home, I didn’t feel like putting the tag on it.

I started thinking then that I was unworthy. Lately, I’ve been thinking seriously about retiring the cape.

Yes, I can do many things, including be a kick-ass cancer advocate, a rising star at work, a stellar fundraiser, a leader at church, an amazing friend, a loving husband and everything else that makes me me. But sometimes, it’s all a facade.

Behind the smiling face is a guy with doubts and insecurities, who wonders when the world is going to catch on that I don’t really know what the hell I’m doing.

My life oftentimes looks Facebook and Instagram perfect. I work out, I joke, I have a spiritual life fed by the likes of Kate Bowler, Ann Voskamp, Nadia Bolz-Weber and Henri Nouwen, to name a few.

I am tired of appearing smiley and happy when deep down I’m tired. It doesn’t help that I’m an empath, so I feel emotions big. The last 19 months or so has not been quality time for empaths. We’re exhausted.

Exhausted but always hopeful.

I asked my primary care physician for an anti-depressant/anti-anxiety prescription the other day. Time to face facts, I thought. I need to even out the edges.

I have no shame, nor should there be, about asking for help. I already know “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” to be a big fat lie from the pits of hell.

Years ago, we went to a megachurch in northwest Knoxville. The pastor was preaching a series on emotions/mental health. On the subject of depression, a topic on which he clearly knew nothing, he said that when he felt himself feeling depressed, he would say to himself, “self, I am not going to feel depressed” as if positive self-talk is the cure-all for everything. It was a moment of spiritual malpractice.

The world is a hard place right now. We’re fighting amongst ourselves like never before. Social media and/or the media and/or politicians want us to believe things that aren’t so, as long as they fit their proscribed narrative. Meanwhile, people are coming undone by disease diagnoses, relationship transitions, job transitions, etc.

Those of us who know better, that “everything happens for a reason” is shite, and “more than you can handle” actually can break people, are looking for the glimmers of hope.

The season of Thanksgiving is upon us (if it doesn’t get wholly trampled by the Christmas industrial complex). It’s time to think about those things for which we are grateful.

Today, I’m grateful to untie my Superman cape and let it slide off my shoulders. Maybe someone else will pick it up. If that’s you, let me warn you, it’s pretty heavy.