Exporting Introspection

I have been doing a lot of self-analysis lately. Well, not really lately.  It’s been going on for about 36 years. But lately, I’ve been focusing on how portions of my formative years are now giving me grief. It’s brought some interesting things to light.

By the way, my motive here is not to bash my parents for denying me the perfect childhood. On the contrary; I think my parents- my mother, particularly- did a fabulous job of raising us kids, especially on one (teacher’s) salary for much of the time. But there were things that they did, or didn’t do, that have had long-lasting, detrimental effects. And I have the idea that writing about some of them might help me get a better grip on the negative aspects of my personality.

Some of my “issues” are really petty things on the surface. For example, I have a terrible time with routine and organizing my time. I also find myself jumping from one task to another, always busy-busy-busy, but never actually finishing much of anything. I think I’m trying to do too many things, perhaps. Or maybe, I’m actually suffering from adult ADD and truly am incapable of keeping on track for more than a short amount of time. I never seem to

Ha. I left that last sentence hanging for effect. You probably saw that coming and are trying hard not to laugh about because it was a really campy little trick.

What you don’t know is that I did that hanging-on part TWO WEEKS  MONTHS AGO.

Bah. Anyway, back to my woes and worries.

The reason this stuff is all sort of surfacing now is because I’ve been given two lovely children to nurture and raise.  I would sincerely, honestly like to avoid screwing them up as badly as I am screwed up. So I have really been thinking a lot about myself, and how to change the negative things about “me” such that I give my kids a good example.  This goes along with something that Embejo mentioned in a recent post: somehow (I’ll paraphrase her, but you really should read her post as it’s much more eloquent), becoming a parent makes you so much more aware of and in tune with your own faults. For instance, (as I continue copying- er, paraphrasing), I never realized I was such an ill-tempered woman. It seems like I am always angry, or on the verge of anger. I hate that about myself. It makes me angry. But, I’m working on it.

I do realize that, in spite of my best efforts, our children will have certain character issues that they will surely place square on my shoulders, once they’re old enough to understand what therapy is. Whether the blame is deserved or not, it will be mine. (I will generously share it with DH, of course.) Strangely, even though I’m fully aware of this fact, that still doesn’t deter me from wanting to be the best parent I can be. It’s almost as if there are biological fail-safes installed in a mother the minute that little bundle is cradled in her arms. She must try, no matter how lousy she is (or imagines herself to be) at this parenting gig, to stick it out til the bitter end.

Someone help me.


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