Sometimes, I want to be the hero.
Never mind if anyone actually needs saving. Or wants me to be the one to do it. I want to swoop in and make things better. To fix what’s broken. As if, devoid of any awareness of the sheer hubris of it, I’m the one thing that’s needed to make everything all right. All because I don’t want to see someone unhappy. Because I don’t want to be the bad guy, who could have done something and didn’t.
But the cape doesn’t always fit. Because my help would probably only make things more difficult. Or because to help would mean too great a cost to my own happiness. A cost I’d eventually resent paying.
And you can’t be that hero all the time. You stop being a savior once the saving is done. Then what? You don’t just get to write “And they lived happily ever after” and end the story. You have to live through that ever after. One you already tried writing once.
Maybe the truly heroic thing to do is not feel like I have to be the hero.
And maybe the one I need to save is me.