crazymama

For me, anyway.

I have to admit it. Parenting has not been easy for me. Is it easy for anyone? I don’t know. But I have never been someone who rolls with the punches well. I take criticism poorly. I am the type of person to ruminate on something I did wrong for a long time. A very long time, in fact.

I am constantly guilty about things beyond my control. Some days instead of looking at my children and being proud that they are a product of me I am ashamed. Ashamed at where I am lacking. I never feel like I give enough.  I am constantly reminded of my weaknesses and idiosyncrasies.

This all started the day I realized that I was someone’s child. That my Mom and Dad had created me. Had probably had every feeling about me that I do about my own children. Even the bad feel ones. Especially the bad ones. I was struck that my children will never love me as much as I love them. It is just impossible.

This knowledge was a blessing and a curse. In one light I was able to forgive my parents their foibles and mistakes knowing that they, as I, were just giving what they had to give. Using the tools in their proverbial toolbox which had been filled by their own parents (it was a pretty empty toolbox to say the least).

Then at once instead of feeling charitable I felt terrified.  My children will feel some day about me the way I feel about my parents. And try as I might I may fail to be considered a good parents. Because lets face it, not everyone is a good parent.

Finally, I felt angry. Angry about things that I cannot discuss here because my Sister in Law and brother may read this and I don’t feel like sharing with them. But it has something to do with not taking the weight and responsibility of parenting as seriously as it should be. My kids will be let loose on the world someday. How can anyone not see how monumentous that is?

Part of living is having the freedom to make choices without judgment or fear of persecution and then to succeed or ultimately fail (whenever reasonable, mind you. A 9 month old playing with matches and a 3 year old doing jello shots is not reasonable).  A parent’s job is not to keep a child from falling but to provide a safe place to land when they do.

I feel like I am not up to this task more often than not. I cry sometimes when I think about their little faces and how I will never be all they need me to be. That is the worst part of parenting. Because all of us are set up to fail in that respect from the beginning.

My therapist has tried to convince me that good enough is just that…good enough. Problem is, I don’t want to be just good enough. But I don’t know how to be more than just me which may never be enough.

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