I grew up desperately wanting to be Jo from Little Women. She was brave and outspoken and creative. She never let anyone else define her and got her happy ending. She was unstoppable. I related so much to that drive towards a passionate life. Whether it's a good thing or a bad thing, I saw myself in that incapability to be fulfilled in something attainable. I wanted to stretch myself farther than anyone ever dreamed. I still feel that way, I still want to be Jo so much. I want to take my passions and make them reality, I want to grow into someone more mature and assured, I want to be bigger and brighter and unstoppable.
I grew up idolizing Beth from Little Women. She was quiet and calm and composed, especially in the face of adversity. She was so kind and so good and so tragic. She was everything I knew I should be. She was delicate and sickly and never let it stop her from loving and supporting those around her. Everyone loved her so much. Everyone loved her so much. Eventually she died, and while she never accomplished anything grand, she never did anything big to impact the lives of others, the very nature of her existence was enough to make others happier, and the loss of her was a tragedy. When her sickness became too much, she accepted her fate and said her goodbyes and went to heaven, because she was already an angel. She was so good and so kind and so perfect, and then she disappeared. And I knew, deep in my bones, that's who I was supposed to be.
I wanted to be brave and outspoken, but I didn't have the spark Jo had, I didn't have enough to justify that use of space. Instead, I was meant to be quiet and demure, to do everything I could to make the lives of everyone around me better, and then disappear. I thought that if I was just good enough, then maybe I would be loved, and maybe I would be missed. I thought that suffering was my burden to bear, the pain of which I was meant to spare my loved ones from by putting on a brave face, until it eventually overcame me. Then everyone would cry and say how much I didn't deserve this, how unfair it was, how tragic. They would say that they loved me so much.
But the thing about this type of character is that they can only ever be a character. Beth never had a future, she was not allowed the same level of complexity and flaws that even the other girls were. An existence dedicated to the comforting of others is always going to leave you tired and alone. I've lived my life exactly like this. How do I bear my burdens with quiet grace? How do I make others' lives as easy and happy as possible? How do I obscure all my messy parts so that everyone sees me as simply good? How do I become good? How do I love others in such a way that when I disappear, they'll be sad, but eventually better off for it? And I'm so used to being alone. Because eventually, I'll burn myself out ignoring my own wants and needs in a relationship, or I'll get left behind since it seems I don't care enough, or we'll hit a situation where I realize everything would be easier if I simply disappeared, so I do. I've been trying to martyr myself my whole life and all it's done is leave me alone and my loved ones confused and hurt.
If I want to be a person, I cannot be like Beth. I cannot run away from my complicated emotions and relationships, I cannot run myself down trying to be perfect, I cannot ignore myself in favor of others. (Not to say that's who Beth is, only that through my lens of religious trauma and shaky upbringing, that's who Beth and many others of the same archetype became to me) But being a person is so messy and complicated, and relationships are messy and complicated. I'm allowing myself to want more than I ever have, but there is still a deep-seated belief that what I want is to be so good and so kind and then disappear. That maybe that's the life I deserve, the life I owe to everyone else, for being burdened with my existence. That maybe I was born to die an early death, and giving in to this yearning for more is some great mortal sin.
But every day is a fight against these thoughts, and while I'm not there yet, I want to be proud of my defiance. Proud of my messiness and complications, proud of my inconvenient passions, the way I'm proud of Jo. It may be sort of silly, and it is a small step, but it's one I am going to take. If I'm not going to die young, then I'm going to have to stomach whatever life I've built for myself, and I already know I'm incapable of begin fulfilled by something attainable.