FORTIES AND FAILING IT

My daughter came home from school today, upset. She had been working hard at a poster project, and her teacher criticized that it was too little in so much time. In 50 minutes she had drawn an oval and two hands. This is not uncommon, but having her teacher call her out on it was. She felt like a failure.
I did my best to re-frame the day. She admitted that it was a pretty great day otherwise. I told her I loved her, and that I had never seen her fail yet, and that the only way she would fail is to give up now. I asked her how she felt when I "failed" the triathlon, placing in the bottom 1% and she had to admit that she was proud.

But tonight, when she said she was ready for bed, I walked through the house to her bedroom and saw everything that I asked her to take care of every day done badly or not at all. Her clothes from tonight and this morning were on the ground. Her bookbag was stuffed with loose crushed papers. Her coat was on the floor instead of the empty hangar. Her shoes were knotted from when she removed them. So instead of being the mom that I wanted to be, I took every careless act as a personal insult, and I felt ashamed. Ashamed that I let others take advantage of me. Ashamed that I let her have playtime after school instead of doing chores, because I think she needs it, but maybe I'm not completely okay with. Ashamed that I can so carefully explain the simple rules I ask to be honoured over and over, and to be completely ignored. So I freaked out, and made her correct all these "failures" before she went to bed.

They say that the forties is when you know who you are, and have the confidence to be who you are. Some of my friends have things organized: menu planning, house routines, time to paint and run 10 k and something of value to teach others. I feel like I am constantly made aware of my failings, but I have never been more disorganized. I can't seem to set a routine and keep it, whether in menu planning, housework, work work. And instead of having an ally of 15 years and share stories of the same timeframe, I am gun shy, anxious, and way oversensitive to shame.

I guess I'll have to listen to my own advice, and try again tomorrow. Here's to hoping that in my fifties, I will finally feel comfortable in my own skin again, and, even before, not overreact so strongly to laundry on the floor, and next time, like the politician's advise, trust but verify.