A coworker told me yesterday, in one of those moments that required wisdom, that we should never beat ourselves up about a mistake. Everyone makes them, even those don’t who want to admit it. Chances are, whatever mistake you’ve made can be corrected. It’s just a matter of sacking up and fixing it.
I’ve felt lately like all I’ve done is make mistakes. Poor decisions, inappropriate reactions, and mistakes. I’ve been going too fast or too slow or not at all, backward when I should have gone forward, looked down when I should have kept my head up, lost in my own thoughts when I should have been listening, yelling instead of speaking. I’ve been angry, just angry, and I have no idea why.
Perhaps out of frustration from all the mistakes, from the fog I’ve been in, from the endless reasons to question myself. Perhaps something else or nothing else. Who knows. I’m just an angry person right now and that, in itself, is a mistake. I’m wasting so much time being upset at myself, at my kids, at strangers, at no one.
I don’t know what I want, what I think would help, or what would make me happy. Superficial band aids haven’t cured it – I’ve continued my bathroom exercise routine, my skin seems to be improving, my closet is shiny with new, beautiful things. Pretty new front doors, a lovely patio set, the prospect of vacations, an endless mountain of Easter chocolate. Everything brightens me up momentarily and then something else happens, the kids get in a fight or I remember something important I’d forgotten to do or there’s some undesirable chore needing to be tended to, and I’m right back to frustrated.
And, to clarify, this is not PMS.
I really am trying my best to push this all down, to swallow this and maintain a shiny, happy exterior, but, once again, I’m failing. I’m so short with my kids. Granted, they’re going through some phase wherein their sole purpose in life is to simultaneously kill each other with fists and fury and also everyone else with exploding brain aneurysms. They’re not listening, they’re constantly at each other’s throats, and I don’t remember what their regular speaking voice sounds like because it’s been replaced with an eardrum-piercing whine noise. The house is a disaster because the only time I would have to actually tidy – there is a mountain of unfolded clean laundry in every bedroom in the house – is when they’re asleep, and so I constantly feel this weighty, yet unmotivational, guilt that, ONCE AGAIN, I’m failing at something domestic. Have I told you about my gardens? Oh, I’ll save that for another day.
I guess today is just one of those ‘feel sorry for myself’ days. Maybe it’s the gloomy weather. Maybe it’s that I didn’t get enough sleep. Maybe it’s that I started my day with a shreaking child interrupting my shower because she was hungry and when I asked for her to give me some privacy, she abliged by shutting the door, laying on the floor outside the bathroom, and kicking the door until I shut the water off. Maybe it’s because she threw another fit because I wouldn’t let her wear a nightgown as clothing. But maybe it’s none of those things.
I don’t know.
I don’t know, but I’ve got to sack up and fix this. Somehow.