I have spent the past 6 years failing.
And I know what you might feel tempted to say—but please don’t, because we all have personal values, goals, standards and expectations about who we are and where we are going in life, and only we can personally measure our progress.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate the kind sentiment—I do.
The thing is, and I am certain that you know this too, you have to be the one to believe it for yourself.
1,278 people can tell you how spectacular you are, but if you don’t feel it in your heart than it just runs off like a gush of summer rain.
While the Plague had me in solitary confinement and strict bed-arrest last week, I had ample time to stare at the ceiling, spend quality time with George and re-discover portions of my brain that I never knew existed before I involuntarily purged what felt to be 1/4 of my body weight.
The Plague—somehow within its purging vengeance and demand for complete stillness managed to bring a clarifying perspective to my aching soul.
With the triplets several months away from beginning elementary school, perhaps I allowed myself a glimmer of hope—along with a shard of forgiveness.
The year leading up to the birth of the triplets was bitter for my oldest, only to have it quickly sour with their premature birth which meant full-blown exposure to medical concerns and more importantly, nearly 4 weeks at home, undoubtedly feeling left behind, as her parents were caring for three pre-mature infants in the NICU.
That was my very first and most painful regret.
Exacerbated by a child with a learning disability that was not yet diagnosed, life became increasingly intense and highly dysfunctional—to put it mildly. After all—-”It Takes A Village”—-does it not?
Only we did not have a village.
We did not have a village, not a community, not a group, not a neighbor—not a soul.
[Auntie T did come to our rescue for a few months after work to help with the dinner time bottles---which saved my life]
We had the 2 of us, 99.99999% of the time. From beginning to end.
There is no way to describe in a single blog post how our lives have progressed over the course of these years—-with the explosion of our family dynamics and then the gut-wrenching maddness of both Aaron and myself each losing a parent—-only to say that we have been living an intense life under extreme circumstances.
So naturally things have not been executed all that well. We have said, behaved, thought, felt, lived in ways that are in direct conflict with who we believed ourselves to be.
Every day, for the past 6 years, I have emotionally punished myself for failing in the most important role of my lifetime—in a capacity where failure is completely unacceptable.
And then I got the Plague.
I was lying there in my bed, annoying the hell out of George with my whispering of sweet-nothings in his hairy ear, hallucinating about chap stick—cause you know I have chap stick issues and I decided that my role is not finished. My term is not up. I can accept my failures thus far and perhaps still succeed. Maybe I can allow myself to believe that this failure was temporary and that if I look at all the facts, perhaps in most situations, I truly did the very best I was capable of doing given the circumstance.
Maybe I really don’t suck as much as I have believed.
Perhaps.
Failure is difficult. I know that my personality is not conducive to this lifestyle. I am a quiet, slow-paced, schedule oriented, nap loving girl. I am truly not wired for raising a tribe of kids. I have no skills or training to do this job effectively—-especially with no breaks. But it is not like either of us could have made different decisions. It is not like I could have given up my job, or my education, or my social life, or….
The fact is, we did. We gave up EVERY THING and gave ourselves entirely to the rearing of our children. There was no other way. It was 2 against 4 and then 5! And we did it willingly. We would do it again. And again. And again.
That is what family does.
I love each and every one of those babies to the moon and back—-I just have no clue how to manage them—-and everything else 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. That is the truth.
But you know what—-we have done it. For the most part—in most cases—we could not have tried harder or tapped anything else within us that could have produced a more favorable result. We have done the best we could with what we have to work with.
No—-it has not been good enough—not even remotely close. So, what then?
What do I do about it, now?
I can only hope and pray that each and every one of them forgive me and forget the hard times.
That they will find it in their heart to forgive my shortcomings. My grossly miscalculated attempts. My sorry ass efforts. Truly. I pray it every day that they might know the real “me.”
Perhaps.
So maybe it’s okay if I just forgive myself for not making the grade. Maybe I can embrace the opportunity that elementary school will provide—-a break from the intensity—-and the opportunity to heal from 6 years of bumps and bruises that keep me from being a better person and mom.
With that healing comes atonement and you can be sure I will be spending the rest of my days making a better life for my chicks and making up for those ways I never measured up.
Now if you might pardon me, I have a cat to torment. That is a role I completely embrace and excel in.
This episode of Pour Your Heart Out is brought to you by Shell @ Things I Can’t Say.
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~The Grasshoppa
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Ah Hon,
I understand this and will not offer the words that are begging to trip off my fingers onto this page because you have asked that we not give them. But I hope you truly have forgiven yourself! Because you are awesome! (Whoops … said it anyway.) And those precious kiddos of yours will do more than forgive you … they will rise up and call you blessed among women for the love, tears, prayers, energy, etc. that you have poured into their lives! And furthermore I believe that God Himself will say well done because the call, my dear Grasshoppa, is TO LOVE … just that! To love and to teach others to do likewise! And there you have succeeded abundantly!
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I think that if you asked them, none of your children would even be aware of these “shortcomings”. Because they know they are loved by you. And at the end of the day, the feeling is mutual and that is all that matters….
School will provide a much need respite. And ease up on the self- punishment!!! That’s my “blog friend” you’re talking about!!!!!
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We all have moments where we feel inadequate, feel like we don’t do enough – this is a residual side effect of perfectionism. We think that the kids can tell that we don’t have it together but I don’t think they really can. I think the children understand that you are doing your best and I’m sure you are doing more than most. I think what children remember the most is the time you spend and the memories you build with them. Hang in there – these feeling of self doubt will soon pass.
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I only have one child and feel this way so I can no way imagine what you are going through but I know this… our children dont see us as failures (not until well into their teenage years lol j/k) but I think you are doing great & you are a wonderful mom! Keep doing your best and praying & do what you can when you can
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I truly believe that is why so very few people can remember anything before their fourth or fifth birthday — nature has made it so that we can’t remember how much our parents struggled when we were so young that we needed constant supervision/assistance/physical care. At least I hope my kids don’t remember that I put myself in time-out to cry when I get overwhelmed and that, while they are clean and the kitchen and bathroom are clean, the rest of my house is a dusty mess.
Parenting small children, especially multiples, should come with the warning sticker that it’s all hands on deck all of the time. And that it will be until the youngest one can wipe his/her bum and get their shoes on their correct feet. And then it all changes and we get to help them learn how to negotiate society on their own… The commitment is constant, but the circumstances and requirements change with time.
But, yeah, thank goodness they can’t remember being two-year-olds…
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In the mists of this you still take the time to visit a sick friend and give sustenance in the form of sweet tea, chocolate and the very valuable books. When I look at you I know I can never measure up. But like you, I will try harder starting today. Thanks for everything!
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I especially like what “SoupMama” had to say up there. (and I am bawling right now, because I know the failure your feel – albeit on a different scale … and I know that your disappointment in yourself is mislaid)
There are so many things I want to say to you right now, I could fill a book … but that would take something like commitment and, well … ya know …
I lay in bed most nights after the battle that was our day has finally ebbed into sleepy-time – feeling like I am out of my league, element and mind. I berate myself for everything I didn’t do right … everything I screwed up and every syllable that I screeched. And I have only two offspring …
You, are my hero. (OH YA – Y’AR). You have a strong relationship with your man … you have amazing kids and you ooze love for them in everything you write.
Be nice to you – K?
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Coming at this from a different angle, as the mother of teens who are very nearly out on their own, those mistakes are not failures. By making mistakes we show our children that it’s okay to be imperfect. We give them permission to make mistakes and be imperfect. While everyone (well, okay not everyone) strives for perfection, almost no one truly achieves it. Life and motherhood is about making mistakes and learning along the way. Picking yourself up and persevering and learning from those mistakes. That is the lesson you want to teach their children. That it’s okay to not always be perfect. You will love them no matter what mistakes they make and they will love you the same. Far better to admit the mistakes, the failures and show them that you love them than to set an impossibly high standard of “perfection” that they can’t live up too.
♥Spot
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The soul has it’s seasons, the same as the year
but with Gods help, it all becomes clear
You too must pass through life’s autumn of dying
a desolate period of heart-hurt and crying
Followed by winter in whose frostbitten hand
the heart is as frozen as the snow-covered land
We too must pass through through the seasons God sends
content in the knowledge that everything ends
And yes what a blessing to know there are reasons
to find that our soul must,too, have it’s seasons
Bounteous seasons and barren ones, too
times for rejoicing and times to be blue
But meeting these seasons of dark desolation
with strength that is born of anticipation
That comes from knowing that “autumn time sadness”
will surely be followed by a “springtime of gladness.”
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You know I can’t listen anyway and have to tell you that I think you are an awesome mama. We all do the best that we can. I feel like the past 5 years have been one big blur of me always failing, always knowing that I could be doing things better, always waiting for the next thing to happen to hopefully make things easier- but it was just usually harder.
Hugs, my friend!
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