“Have some compassion,” he said.
Me? I thought. Aren’t I the most compassionate person on this planet?
I said nothing. I deferred to thought. Slow to anger.
What I have lost is compassion. I realised that this means that I am least compassionate to myself.
I am angry with myself for finally failing to feed my teenager after 8 years of success as a single mum; I am angry with myself for being able to dress well on a pittance; I am angry with myself for being articulate and able to ace any interview; I am angry with myself for being slow, because people want speed; I am angry with myself for noticing flaws in writing: my own and others.’
“Your greatest flaw is sometimes your greatest asset,” said that polymath from IQ.
Seeing the flaws, I suppose, requires a dispassionate eye. It is not that I lack compassion, it is that I have been torn open over and over again, until (have you noticed this?),
the scar heals perfectly.