I am so uninteresting. I have become a grown-up. I have a real job. My first child is graduating this year. I am living my last year and a half of being in my 30s. And worst of all, I feel I've accomplished nothing noteworthy.
Lately, I've been consumed by lack of parenting accomplishments. John says I'm too hard on myself. I think I haven't been hard enough on myself. I had children too young, and I have been a stereotypically selfish and naive young mother over the lifespan of those children. In fact, I don't think I was cut out for parenthood at all. But I did a lot of stupid things, and there's nothing that can change the fact I am a mother of not one, but two unfortunate children.
I am not comforted by the fact there are worse parents out there. Failure does not make mediocrity any more palletable. I hold myself to a higher standard. Keeping my kids clothed, fed, and sheltered is not enough.
At least, it's not enough now. It was apparently enough when there was still time to make changes for the better. But now that adulthood is looming for one of them, and there is no time left, I am confronted with my own failure. All there is to be done now is change what I can.
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One Year Ago Today: