Mind battles

It took me going to therapy for almost 3 years to understand that the crap I tell myself about myself inside my head is just that....crap.

I thought my thinking, my self-talk, was normal, like well-adjusted normal. But it wasn't.

It isn't normal/healthy to think you cannot handle anything.

It isn't normal/healthy to expect the absolute worst at every turn.

It isn't normal/healthy to worry over the most obscure, catastrophic situations imaginable.

And even though I am medicated and a much more sane person than I used to be, it is hard to undo years and years of negative, fear-laden self-talk. Even though I know from experience that, thus far, things usually never turn out to be as bad as I anticipate them to be. Nor am I as bad a person as I sometimes think myself to be.

When I say "bad person," I don't mean back-stabbing, lying, cheating, nasty person. I mean "bad person" as in mistake-making person. Somehow along my life path I developed this notion that I, Carrie, must be perfect. And this being perfect makes it very, very difficult to be human.

For example, today before my mom arrived to babysit me, I fussed at N and actually said "Dammit" when she kept flailing the comforter on the sickbed (the hide-a-bed) and tossing G's bowls of crackers all over the floor. I asked her to stop but she kept doing it, which is when I raised my voice.

Now reasonable Carrie knows that she is allowed to fuss, to become angry, frustrated, sad, whatever because I am human and a mom and going through all the normal postpartum bullshit. But infallible Carrie thinks that she shouldn't raise her voice at her kids or fuss at them when they do something accidental. And infallible Carrie has had many, many years to get the upper hand, although reasonable Carrie has learned to fight back.

So I apologized to N for fussing at her, which made me feel a little less ogre like. And then I felt guilty when I fussed at her about needing to rest when she was wanting to jump around (I hate that damn 24-hour fever free zone when the kid feels better but still needs to rest and so acts like a bonobo all day as a result of terrible boredom).

Although I physically took it easy and tried not to overexert myself on this first day solo (or somewhat solo since Nana was here), my psyche was terrifically busy.