I'm feeling guilty about a conversation I had with my oldest daughter in the car yesterday. In the fifth grade, every Thursday they get a map (it might be a map of the oceans, or the continents, or whatever). They take the map home, and they study it for a week, and then they take the test. This is the third week of school, and for the third week she has forgotten to bring home her map (just to be clear-- it's not that big of a deal-- the maps are easy, she still gets an A every time. 100%. This will matter later. Maybe only to me).
But I got really upset in the car. At some point I said something like, you know the difference between people who go to Harvard and people who go to some state college? ("What?") Remembering to bring their maps home. Yes, I was serious. My stomach started to hurt from the massive amount of agony I was in. I may have cried a little out of fear (not that my kid would end up at state college, I swear. Fear that I have no idea how to help her, and I never will).
I'm a driven person. That's what other people tell me, most notably my psychiatrist. Maybe so. But really I'm a loser. I'm telling you-- you don't have to believe me, but it's true. Sometimes I sit on the couch for up to an hour and watch reality TV. Occasionally I do nothing useful all day except be a mother and clean the house. There's a voice in my brain all the time "Loser, loser, loser", but sometimes it's louder than other times. Yes, I'm driven. I'm driven to get out of loserville. I could make a list. OK, I will.
1. I dropped out of high school. Yes, I have a bachelor's degree and 1.75 master's degrees, but really I have a ninth grade education. Ninth grade being the last grade I actually showed up (I did 10th grade in an alternative school, but I don't think standing outside smoking pot and attempting to shove the couch out of the lounge window count toward my education).
2. I have a criminal record. Disorderly conduct. I'll never be president.
3. I'm a terrible mother. Please see the conversation above.
4. I rarely clean the corners. And then I see how dirty they are, and I buy one of those rotating brushes and clean them, but they get dirty again.
5. I swear. A lot.
6. I have terrible hair.
7. I have big feet.
8. I taught myself to braid hair, but I never do it right. The braids are too loose.
9. My dogs jump on people. Nobody likes dogs that jump. Nobody likes my dogs.
10. I bite my nails.
I mean, honestly, the list goes on for days. My counselor has suggested wearing a piece of jewelry (11. I don't wear jewelry), something that is slightly irritating, to remind me not to be mean to myself. (12. I think that's dumb.) At first, when he brought up this whole "you're in an abusive relationship with yourself" thing, I thought, oh, ok, I'll just try to be nicer to myself. No problem. But the more I pay attention the more I realize that this "driven-ness" I have seeps into everything. It's not just that I want things to be perfect. I make myself sick, and I waste a lot of time I could otherwise be using to clean corners telling myself how much I've failed. I'm terrified of failure. Cliche alert. But I mean terrified. I mean ulcer attack, can't breath, tight chest, oh, God, I'm going to throw up terror.
Nothing's ever good enough. A clean house is not clean enough, remembering to bring home your math and spelling, but not your map, is failure. A *B* is failure. I don't judge other people so harshly (I try not to), but I wonder if that's because, deep down, I don't care so much if they fail. Make space for the other losers. I don't think that's true-- I hope it's not.
So hysterical. I'm not that bad. The older I get, the more I'm able to let some things go. I try to keep my mouth shut when it comes to my kids (sometimes I fail. Lahoooser.). I don't know, since I went to state college, but I'm guessing admission to Harvard has more to do with choosing to be born to rich parents and/or having parents who support and encourage you, even when you forget to bring your map home.
This morning we were in the car (maybe I should just stay out of cars?) discussing a certain incident in which my older daughter failed to stand up for my younger daughter when they were playing with a group of kids.
"Is that what Dr. Martin Luther King would do?" I asked my older daughter. All I got was silence. I turned around and looked at her. "Is it?"
She looked completely befuddled. "I have no idea, Mama. I really don't know."
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