Apologies for the long absence. I can blame travel for some for it (which I am yet again doing), and having kids home with me for a bunch of time over their summer vacation so far. "A bunch" as in a lot more than I'm used to, not "a bunch" compared to other people out there. But then to give some perspective, "a bunch" more than others out there as well.
I actually wrote a longish draft about a month ago but never finished it and thereby never published it. This has happened before. If it gets to be long enough after writing the beginning of a post, I lose that momentum, that thought train, and it all doesn't make much sense to me anymore to bother attempting to finish it. Eh. That draft was written towards the end of that one biggish suicide week- the one with Kate Spade's suicide, Anthony Bourdain's suicide, and the release of that CDC report about the increase in suicide rate throughout the US since 1999. It was a tough week, emotionally, as suicide discussion is always difficult for me. And then, just in writing the above, I couldn't remember Anthony Bourdain's name, so I was searching through some list of notable people who have committed suicide in the 21st century, and I came across Robin Williams' name from his suicide in 2014, which had escaped my memory. And then there was just the scary length that list was. So now I'm just feeling all the feels again, as usual, of how badly I wish we could get a better handle/abatement/ or just something on mental illnesses and general wish people have of no longer existing. It just... sucks.
But. That isn't the topic I wanted to discuss today.
I want to discuss failure.
It’s something I'm quite certain I’ve brought up before, in varying degrees and contexts, but… failure.
Failure.
Failure is something that has been a really big deal in my head and I’ve continually striven to “not be a failure” which has meant I must somehow be “perfect” (since that’s the opposite?). I think a lot of my depressive thoughts have centered around “I am a failure”:
“I am a failure as a mom”,
“I am a failure because I became a mom so young”,
“I am a failure because I got pregnant out of wedlock”,
“I am a failure at using my engineering degrees”,
“I am a failure at fighting my depression”,
“I am a failure because my depression treatment finally brought me to requiring Electro-Convulsive Therapy this past year”,
“I am a failure at integrating into my life all the things I’ve learned from therapy and depression reading/research and discussions and advice from others”,
“I am a failure at staying in shape”,
“I am a failure because I’ve gained a bunch of weight in the last 2 years”,
“I am a failure because I don’t fit into the clothes I used to”,
“I am a failure because I can’t run a mile without taking walking breaks and without my feet screaming at me”,
“I am a failure because……….”
Everything. Anytime, anywhere, always. Despite that big list, it’s only the tip of the iceberg; I really could go on and on. But you really don’t want to read more than that list, you probably didn’t want to read that long of a list, and I really don’t want to continue because I also know that it could just send me down the hole when here I am, trying to write stuff to keep me out of the hole and maybe even, if possible, help others to not go down that hole.
I went to Catholic schools 1st through 8th grades, switching schools halfway through due to a move we made. Which as a side note, sucks for having to make new friends, you know?
Anyway, I was pretty smart (maybe still am, who knows?), in particular at math. In first grade I was doing second grade math. I can’t actually remember if this event happened in first grade or second, but one of the times I left my classroom to join the next grade’s math, while my class continued working on whatever it was we had been working on (because this is how it was done. Someone from the other class would come to say they were ready for me to join in, and other stuff was done in my classroom. Because apparently this special case they made for me wasn’t really done before? And maths were not taught at the same times? anyway…), apparently while I was gone, the teacher made an announcement to the class to not bring the assignment home to finish because she was concerned we’d all leave the work at home. Well of course I never heard this announcement. And of course I was learning the other math while everyone else could work on this assignment so I had to bring it home in order to work on it and catch up. And then guess what happened? Yup, you guessed it… I left my assignment at home. Because what else would a child of 6 or 7 have done? So then the next day when I told the teacher I’d left my work at home (and I wasn’t smart enough apparently, or at least not learned in the ways of standing up for myself, to say that I hadn’t been in class when she gave that announcement), she really brought me to understand how badly I messed up. And the typical punishment at that time was to put kids to stand in corners (cuz somehow that made sense??). Well I ended up in a corner behind the teacher’s desk. And then she forgot about me. And it still didn’t occur to me to stand up for myself, but I ended up there for way longer than I should have. And I stood there, silently crying. Eventually I was taken out of my punishment, but somehow any memory of the teacher making any apology doesn’t seem to exist; all I remember is the other details in rather exact perfection.
And needless to say, after that school year I decided I wouldn’t go learn the next year’s math anymore because it just wasn’t worth that kind of humiliation and that kind of crushing my spirits and that kind of origin or reinforcement of this idea that I’ve messed up/I’m a failure.
In high school and college I think I felt really good because I thrived so well academically. In high school I was always in accelerated/ advanced placement classes, I got the highest possible score on every one of the advanced placement exams I took earning me college credit. Then in college I studied mechanical engineering, which challenged me, but I guess I rose to the challenge. I did well, I graduated after four years, with one of the semesters being away and working as a co-op, and with internships for each of the summers. I even graduated “with honors” aka magna cum laude or one of those things. I’m not saying all this to brag, but to try and make out what it all has been through my life, what has been my measure of whether or not I’m a failure at that particular bit of my life. I guess I understand a little as to why I put such importance on the academic stuff, even if I don’t think it was the healthiest, especially considering how I think that attitude has probably contributed some/a lot to my current mental health issues which really manifested post kids. I’ve had some additional schooling (with my master’s degree) and some working, but I’ve felt like I haven’t done nearly enough, and I don’t feel remotely capable of going back into it, especially since the ECT treatment has destroyed so much memory. But then I don’t at all feel “enough” as a mother and continually feel like a failure there in my interactions with my kids, and I see all the other mothers around me and compare myself with them and I see how much they are able to accomplish while I can barely do anything especially when I’m constantly doing things for my mental health (and failing at that in the process).
Ok, so let’s try some different things out that don’t focus on the failure stuff so much. Oi. This sounds hard and sounds like I’m already setting myself up for failure.
Deep breath.
Listen a bit to that fantastic music running through my earbuds right now.
Remember a few things…
I love my children.
I love my husband.
I love my family and friends.
I love all those out there who struggle, with the same or similar stuff/thoughts, or with completely different mental or physical or just daily stuff.
I love… myself. (despite how badly I want to add “I think” to that statement)
Now a few more things…
from my bracelets given to me by two wonderful supportive people in my life…
“YOU ARE ENOUGH”
“You Are Braver Than You Believe Stronger Than You Seem And Smarter Than You Think”
Some more things to remember...
I try very very hard, in everything I do, in all the different roles I play in my life, as a wife, as a mother, as a family member to many, as a friend to many.
I try very hard to make the world a slightly better place, particularly in my role as a person who struggles with mental illness and has come to some capability of sharing my personal experiences with others.
I love others around me with my whole heart, even when I don't speak to them very often, even when they live far away or I hardly ever see them, even when they only have been part of my life for a short bit of time a long time ago. I love, very much.
I try to be a good person, to care about people and the world and the earth.
There are some therapies I'm considering trying out to work through some of this "I am a failure" stuff that I continually come back to. Because it is still a bit too ingrained than this post or my lists will really fix. Don't get me wrong, I think this stuff helps and will help and is very worth doing. I just think I need more help that just this.
I would love to get to a point in my life when I can truly discuss this failure stuff, or really all my mental health stuff, without feeling a bit triggered by the discussion. Without wanting to just sit down and sob. Although maybe the fact that I feel these things and yet continue to try and discuss it all with others and share my story is almost even more of an encouragement for others to get there? I don't know. I guess I'm trying to say that I want it to be easier to talk about but also not get to a point where I'm distant or disengaged with it all.
I want everyone out there to be able to recognize the need for help, to feel able/capable/free to seek the help they need, to be free of those feelings of failure that come with seeking help. I want our society, our world, to accept that all people need to feel supported in their lives, in their feelings, in their struggles. Hah, I want that perfect world, rather than that failure of a world I so often feel we're living in. But I guess we do have to continue to strive for the highest possible, without that full connotation of perfection, but maybe just general improvement, so that we don't just keep going at the level we're at. We are not failures, we don't live in failure, but there is always something to keep doing, to keep trying for, to keep improving.
