The idea of learning to forgive yourself, well, its pretty trendy right now. Not saying it is isn't valid, its just all over the place and sometimes for me that translates into new age-y woowoowoo.
But I had this conversation with Chris the other night and in the middle of it I was struck, just struck by the amount of loathing and disgust I had with myself for my failures.
And have plenty.
Oh yes, I have lots and lots of good. Sure. I'm kind and sometimes patient, etc, etc... buuuut. I'm afraid can be just heartless. Or more importantly-- I have been heartless. Chris would argue, my friends would argue, my doctors would argue. They would remind that somewhere after Emmet was born(81/2) years ago, my PPD exploded into full fledged depression and anxiety disorder. They would remind me that I was coping the best I could.
Yeah. I know.
But what I remember is yelling at the kids. Not being able to leave the house. Utterly overwhelmed. Crying. And crying. And crying. Especially at the end of the day when my failures were painfully clear.
I know that drugs have helped and and, well, Im REALLY ok with that. I know I needed help. I know that 5 kids and no money would drive anyone over the edge. Let alone the madness that was chemical makeup.
But.
I still hate the way I was. I can't quite forgive myself for not being stronger. Kinder. Better.
I am now. I know. And now is really what matters.
But it would be nice to jump on the trendy bandwagon. And forgive myself.
