I waste moments in my day thinking about how lucky other people are. Well of course they can work out for two hours, grab a coffee with a friend, or sit and read for hours, they aren’t parents of small people. I’m comparing my apples to their oranges. One day, I’ll have that time back.
And this just goes to prove my underlying understanding of my life : there’s never enough time, energy, or money to do all the things I want do. So you’d think I’d go ahead and lower my standards to feel better about my life. Nope.
I want to have a clean house, a well-toned body, a beautiful garden, grateful kids, a larger blog following, essays published in well known publications, or even a career.
I’m always working but it’s never enough. Most people can’t believe I do as much as I do. And I wonder what life they see me living. And conversely, there was the awful person who suggested I go get a job. I must be living a life of luxury over here getting my toes painted and who knows what else. People “my age” often are employed.
Sadly, I should be even more infuriated at that stupid comment. Women are always screwed as so many don’t understand the sheer volume of responsibilities we have in our minds to keep up with. But now with the children at home on top of our heads needing us to also be the homework monitor and entertainment manager on top of being laundress, cook, disciplinarian, nursemaid, and person who pays attention to them.
No wonder I feel like I’m not enough. Society has handed me this mental condition and I’ve said, thank you sir, may I have another? Until I can say “enough already”, I will not have enough time left for me. For the house work or the garden much less my own personal creative work or self-care practices. Creating realistic self-expectations is something I need for me and to model for my daughter.
I’m going to sit down and have a long talk with that little niggling voice in the back of my head about what I truly think is enough. Really.
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