This is one of those days when I question everything about me. I wonder if I made a colossal mistake, going back to school. I wonder if I've chosen the right path in school. I wonder if my major and minor are even within my realm of possibility. I wonder if I'm just doing what feels easy instead of what feels right.
I wonder if I should have kept Carly home for another year. I wonder if children are mean to her, if they single her out because she looks different, if she bosses them around, if she listens to her teacher. I wonder if she feels safe. Is safe.
Currently my son is sitting in the back office, crying. He is crying because he is Frustrated, capital F, because I questioned his work and asked for more. He feels like a failure. I caused that. I wasn't even trying to criticize him. I was trying to get more from him, to pull some of the brilliance from his head, to get him to put some more effort and pride into his work. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't say anything mean. I praised him, actually, for the work he had done so far. And yet, he is still devastated. I wonder if homeschool was the right choice. I wonder if I should be involved in his homeschool in any way. I wonder if I should let him off the hook and accept the work he provided. I wonder if I should try to comfort him some more or just let him work it out alone. I wonder if I am a terrible mother.
I entered an essay contest the other day. I know I won't win, I know when I don't win it will shatter my brittle confidence. Even though I know I won't win. Did I say that twice? My husband says I shouldn't be so hard on myself. I don't know how to stop doing that, though. There was another writing contest I wanted to enter, a fiction contest. I entered last year. I didn't win. This year, when I tried to write, I couldn't do it. I started about 5 different story lines. I tried to make them work. There are a couple I really thought were good starts. But my brain was paralyzed. Because last year, I didn't win. So why try.
My son is still talking to himself in the back room, sniffling and complaining. He does this when he is Frustrated. Capital F. I don't want him to be like me, and yet he is. He is my little shadow. I can't do it right, so I won't try. I don't have the chops, so I won't try. I am Frustrated. Capital F. I don't want to try.
I read this the other day on nienie:
I'm trying to hold on to that.