I used to say I wanted to be Batman or Spider-Man. Back then it sounded cool. They were strong, fearless, untouchable. They had the power to fix things, to save people. But as I got older, I started to realize it was never about the suit, the gadgets, or the powers. It was about something much deeper. I didn’t want to fly through cities or fight supervillains. I just wanted to feel like I had control over something. Anything. I wanted to believe that the pain I carried could be turned into something meaningful. That maybe, like them, I could turn my fear, guilt, and sadness into purpose.
Batman wasn’t just strong. He was broken. He lost everything and still built himself into someone who could stand up to the world. Spider-Man wasn’t just funny or agile. He carried the weight of his own mistakes and still chose to protect the people around him. When I looked at them, I saw strength , not the kind that came from fighting but the kind that came from surviving. I saw people who felt alone, different, misunderstood. And I related to that more than I ever wanted to admit.
At some point, I realized I didn’t want to be a hero in a cape. I just wanted to believe I was worth saving. That I could be enough, even with the mess inside me. I wanted to be the kind of person who didn’t collapse under pressure. Who could look at their past and not feel shame. Who could sit with pain and still choose kindness. The kind of person who kept going, even when it felt easier to give up.
There’s no big transformation moment. No dramatic music or life-changing revelation. Just slow, painful growth. You start waking up and doing the hard thing. You face yourself in the mirror and try to understand. You fail, you fall, you break. And then you get up and try again. And maybe that’s what being a hero really is not saving the world, but saving yourself, piece by piece, every day.
So no, I never became Batman. I never became Spider-Man. But I am becoming someone who’s still here. Still trying. You can say I am rn with Spider Mans Financial condition and Batmans trauma conditions.
Batman wasn’t just strong. He was broken. He lost everything and still built himself into someone who could stand up to the world. Spider-Man wasn’t just funny or agile. He carried the weight of his own mistakes and still chose to protect the people around him. When I looked at them, I saw strength , not the kind that came from fighting but the kind that came from surviving. I saw people who felt alone, different, misunderstood. And I related to that more than I ever wanted to admit.
At some point, I realized I didn’t want to be a hero in a cape. I just wanted to believe I was worth saving. That I could be enough, even with the mess inside me. I wanted to be the kind of person who didn’t collapse under pressure. Who could look at their past and not feel shame. Who could sit with pain and still choose kindness. The kind of person who kept going, even when it felt easier to give up.
There’s no big transformation moment. No dramatic music or life-changing revelation. Just slow, painful growth. You start waking up and doing the hard thing. You face yourself in the mirror and try to understand. You fail, you fall, you break. And then you get up and try again. And maybe that’s what being a hero really is not saving the world, but saving yourself, piece by piece, every day.
So no, I never became Batman. I never became Spider-Man. But I am becoming someone who’s still here. Still trying. You can say I am rn with Spider Mans Financial condition and Batmans trauma conditions.
