… than just a paycheck; or a vagina; or a uterus.
I am more.
I am responsible for my effort and my attitude. Beyond that, there is little I can “control.”
My worth is more than the luck I have with “succeeding” in a career that is valued monetarily. I have worth even if I fail at every career.
I am more than a vagina. I am worthy of love, even if I cannot give you sex; or sex that meets your standards. I deserve intimacy.
I am more than a baby-making machine. My worth is not dependent on the number of children I have; or don’t have.
I believe I am more, and that that more has great worth.
But what is more?
For years, I have given my worth away so casually that I have rarely noticed it slipping from me. Even as I progress, I have trouble “quantifying” this Other: who or what I am apart from tangible things like dollars or degrees or meals or lovely homes or orgasms.
And what exactly is a person supposed to “bring” to a relationship? I can’t think of anything more important, or elusive, than emotional availability and support.
People comment on the beautiful light they see in me. Most seem to grasp that I approach the world with only the purest of intentions and striving always to do my best. They know that is worth something.
So why don’t I?
Phoenix photo credit: https://wall.alphacoders.com/big.php?i=104284