Guilt, motherhood, and mothering

I think it’s hilarious that I feel guilty over not posting on my ED blog. ED is all about guilt – at least for me. I met with T today, and just vented because with the start of the fall semester, my work is insane. Add to that the joy that is Back to School, a sick father, and no childcare (my nanny quit) and you come up with the perfect storm. Needless to say, as I was enjoying the beaches (while working) last week on vacation, I was purging and restricting like nobody’s business. Stress, certainly, but it’s stress I put on myself. I set my expectations so high – I need to be perfect, to teach the perfect class, to have everything perfectly ready for my kids, to have all of the details around my dad handled flawlessly – because I feel that I’m not qualified and I’m not worthy. And then because I can’t meet my expectations, I destroy myself – physically and emotionally. My inner voice gets crazy loud, berating me for my failures. I want to punish myself and I cause myself so much hurt, pain, hunger, anger, hatred, loathing…. So guilt for me is a very, very bad thing.

Motherhood is really hard when guilt is a dangerous thing, because motherhood seems to be all about guilt, at least for me. No matter what I do, I never feel it’s enough. I could be smarter, kinder, more organized, prettier, more pleasant, happier…. and my kids would therefore not blame me for screwing them up. But because I am such a f-up, I’m going to screw them up. Oh, you see where this is going! Back into the happy cycle of purge-hurt-shame-guilt.

The other thing I’m struggling with is mothering myself. My surgery went well, but my recovery has been slow so of course I blame myself for that. If I were a better patient, I’d be feeling better – like I can control my own pain and healing! Hahahahaha. But Monday, my first day back on campus since my surgery, I was up and down the stairs, walking all over, in serious PAIN and ignoring it. I was doing far more than I should and I knew it but I was doing it anyway. I’m not sleeping either. And my eating – well, I’m barely holding on there. While I can tenderly care and mother my kids, I am incapable at mothering myself. Pain and discomfort mean I’m doing something wrong – I’m wrong – I’m bad.

What a twisted world my head is these days.

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