on being your own hero

reflections on forced independence and idolization

Originally, I wanted to title this piece “How to Save a Life,” like that one song by The Fray that was really popular in the 2000s. In rewriting the title, I ended up making a tribute to Orla Gartland’s new album “Everybody Needs A Hero.” 

I’m really bad at following the advice to never meet your heroes. I’ve met some of my heroes and been disappointed. But I also met some and walked away in more admiration of them than before. Celebrity worship culture is inherently problematic and toxic with the rise of parasocial relationships and such. However, I’m not sure that phrase can be used to describe what I’ve been grappling with lately. 

In my other post about dreaming big, I mention how, from a very young age, I have always been much more independent compared to my peers. While this seems like something that I should be proud of, it pains me to think about why I have matured so quickly.

Growing up, I didn’t have any consistent trusted adult figures in my life I could rely on. Because of that, I turned to filling that space in my life with TV shows, YouTubers, and comic books. I still have that obsession, though I rely on it less when I’m doing better.

I hate admitting to my own parasocial habits. To me, it’s an admission of guilt, and I never want to be guilty of anything because I’m not sure I’m deserving of any absolution.

Relying on these habits and hyperfixations has been much easier than acknowledging the other reality that’s harder for me to accept: I’m my own hero. Because nobody had been willing to save my life, I had to find ways to save it myself. I had to be my own hero because I didn’t know how else I could keep on living if I didn’t make myself become one.

But heroes can let you down. At the end of summer, I had been interviewing for a job that I’d been dreaming of since the beginning of college. I believed that this job was going to be my ticket out of my toxic household and a way for me to finally be independent on my own terms instead of fighting every obstacle tying me back to my hometown. It was going to be how I could finally afford to stop budgeting and worrying about how I might pay for future higher education. It was going to solve all my problems and make the future worth living for, finally.

After years of training and hours of preparing for the rigorous interview process, I was rejected. I was heartbroken and spent the entire week after this realization sobbing my eyes out and holing myself away in my room, trapped at home, while all my other friends were moving back to college and reuniting with joy.

I think I have always been tough on myself because I know that no matter how many creators I look up to, at the end of the day, I’m still the only hero who’ll stick around in my life. It’s incredibly isolating because I rarely let my friends in on how heavily this weighs on me, especially since many face different challenges from me and are unable to relate.

The issue with being your own hero is that sometimes when you hate yourself, you have nobody to look up to other than false idols that are reminders of your own desperation. When you are your own hero, you cannot escape. There are days when I don’t have a hero, and those days feel neverending and empty.

Nobody tells you how hard being your own hero is. Nobody tells you how incredibly lonely it is.

Celebrity worship implies that celebrities, who are people too, are undeserving of privacy because they are assumed to be perfect and have their life together. And if their life is messy and full of drama, it’s part of their brand and fantastic entertainment.

I expect myself to be perfect because I’m afraid that failure isn’t an option. When my life is a trainwreck after I’m unable to meet my own expectations and get my dream job after working tirelessly, it’s a reflection of myself and terribly sad.

While trying to pull myself up out of the metaphorical well I fell into after the rejection, I tried very hard to remind myself that my worth is not defined by a job. I tried to rebuild the very hero I continue to destroy every day, and I’m still learning to this day how to do that.

I might not believe that I’m deserving of forgiveness, but maybe starting with understanding could be a good step. Maybe I can pick up what remains of myself after this and build someone who isn’t a hero but a friend. Maybe, instead of independence, I can start working towards kindness.