Superman.

It’s crazy sometimes how this world sneaks up behind you, and even when you try to sleep you can’t. All your fears, insecurities and problems have morphed into that invisible monster under your bed that you thought didn't exist in the adult world. It seems like the comforter’s suddenly made of lead and even your softest blanket weighs you down into pits of hell that you thought you had banished from your atheist world view.

You try to sleep on it but only finally manage to pass out after your brain is exhausted from fretting and you no longer have the energy to hold up against the world, not even enough energy to keep your lids open. You wake up in panic and try to hide the fear somewhere behind your make up. You float through the day, not living any moment, merely existing. Conversations become background drone and after a point the drone gets to such a pitch that your fragile glass body breaks. And all the water within, comes tumbling down.

Your shaking hands wipe the single tear, and you rush out to find a lonely spot before the entire waterworks start. You've lost all control and your entire body shivers. You hands shakily find the phone and muscle memory dials your mother’s digits. She picks up the phone and you just sob. All hell breaks loose, and she’s worried on the other side, consoling you about… she has no idea what this is about… yet everything she says makes sense.

She doesn't understand your world. You think she doesn't understand you. You know she won’t get it. And she doesn't. Yet, everything she says rings with an element of truth. It’s comes with a cooling breath of assurity that everything is going to be alright. She reminds you, of the roots that ground you, of the self you once believed in, of the woman you aspire to be, and tells you with a sense of utter finality of the woman you’re going to become.

And it’s not easy to put together broken glass and fix it, but, Mum is Superman.