Self Worth

How does one measure their worthiness? 

In terms of the roles they play? Child, spouse, sibling, friend, colleague, parent, grandparent, boss, employee? 

The activities they do? Or don't do?

The things (material and otherwise) they receive or amass?

An interconnection of all of the above to make a delicate web of worthy, meaningful existence?

And what if, at one or point or another, stuff happens in life, and all of the above crumble? 

You are unable to play the roles you want to. Unable to do the things you want to. Incapable of receiving that which you want.

What then?

How does one measure their worthiness then? Where would one begin? And where would one end? How does it end? Does it end at all?

How does one search within oneself to find that speck of innate worthiness, if at all there is such a thing. Cloistered within oneself, in an island of our own, with no roles to play, no meaningful activities to contribute, and nothing to receive, what does it mean to feel worthy of one's existence?

To resurrect sanity and confidence, does one then reinvent new roles, search within our depths for activities to do, and hope to receive something in return? 

Does self-worth always revolve around such external dependencies - on other people, activities that affect the external environment, materials that come from the external space, and love, approval and validation that come from the roles we play?

Is there no way to find any other measure of worthiness about who we are, by just seeking and searching within ourselves, for ourselves, with no reliance on anything external?

Is it possible to do so even when one's life skitters and jogs out of control like slippery globes of marbles that scatter everywhere, yet again? 

As you watch the pieces of your life regressing and you focus on holding onto wisps of your worthiness, how do you hush these incessant questions: How did you slip? Where did you slip? When did you slip, when you thought you walked with such measured caution, placing each foot behind the other and reigning as much control as you could?

I don't have any answers. Only questions...and more questions that clamor and cry and squeal inside me.  The more the questions, the lesser my worthiness of who I am and what I ought to be doing. Are my answers hidden within my definition of my own self-worth? Is it possible to pick one form of worthiness over the other? Ah, miserable choices.

I ought to have answers. I ought to have plans that shape up and come to fruition because I worked hard at them. I truly did. But it was not enough. Every plan needs a stroke of good luck. And luck and me... haha, we never get along.

So I stand like a foolish person who didn't pay attention to where she was heading, who is forced to take the turns that life imposes, because life is always what happens to her when she is busy planning for it. Do I hop, skip, and run to a safe place, or weather this rough road ahead hoping to find a destination that promises to nurse my dying self-worth back to health? I choose the bumpy turn, and I watch as chunks of my self-worth fade and die as I make the turn. Is it ironical that I always lose something in order to gain the same thing?