Shame

Shame is one of the most destructive feelings I know. A lot of the crap that has happened to me, and most of all the crap that I have been instrumental in allowing to happen, has been caused by shame.

And I'm ashamed all the time. Or at least very often. For a very long time in my youth I didn't have any memories. Every time something would pop up in my mind, there would be something shameful associated with it, and I would immediately shut it down. That feeling, that dread coursing through the body, the wish to disappear, to cease existing, it's awful. At times, it has controlled my life.

I have two major things I'm ashamed of, and one is not being liked. I grew up knowing I wasn't loved (as an adult, I've started to think that I probably was, but that can't change my experience as a kid), and I was bullied in school on top of that. I had two best friends, both of whom betrayed me horribly, first one at twelve and the next one at fourteen, and contributed to the bullying. So that's one. The other one is not being good enough.

I have ADHD, but no one knew that. I grew up trying harder than everyone around me, and still coming up short. I was always late, didn't do the things I was supposed to, forgot stuff, didn't clean up after myself, made a mess, broke stuff, and so on. I was constantly not living up to the expectations from people around me - people like my parents and teachers, who saw a smart, talented, charming kid who for some reason just didn't seem to care or try very hard. While, at the same time, I was working like crazy to get through each day, and not letting anyone see that I was struggling. Because of shame.

If I hadn't been ashamed, maybe someone would have known what my life was really like. Maybe I could have told an adult about the bullying. Maybe I could have explained that I did my very best and still couldn't manage to do homework - that I did care, a lot, but just couldn't make it work. If I hadn't been ashamed. But I was ashamed, and I much preferred being labelled lazy and unambitious than having people know I couldn't do it.

And that haunts me still.

I've been sick lately, on top of my ongoing issues with mental fatigue and burn out. I'm getting better, but it's a bumpy road, as always. Mistress has taken two day off of work and we've gone to her parents for a mini vacation. Today I took little S on a shopping trip so that Mistress could get some time for herself and work, and after lunch I accompanied my mother in law to the vet with one of the dogs, a big rottweiler that doesn't particularly like other dogs and last time had made a big fuss while waiting for the vet. I'm pretty proud of how I handled it, there was no wrestling matches or incessant barking this time, but after that and picking up som groceries, I was pretty much wiped. I spent the afternoon in bed, and at dinner time I was all kinds of woozy, feeling sick and dizzy and thinking I wouldn't survive the evening.

On top of that, Mistress had asked me earlier to take care of little S after dinner so that she could work some more, and it made me rather panicky, because I really didn't think I would be up for it. And again, that made me overwhelmed with shame.

Every time I'm asked, especially by Mistress, to do something that is beyond what I can do without feeling seriously ill or paying a heavy price afterwards I get terribly ashamed. I'm awashed in it.

In the end I did take care of little S while Mistress worked, we had a nice time playing a game on the iPad together, and it wasn't so difficult. It helped that little S was in a good mood and stayed focused on the game.

And then eventually the day was over with little S going to bed downstairs with grandma, and I started to relax and feel like maybe, maybe I was okay, maybe I had made it. And the first thing Mistress says to me is along the lines of "oh, we said we should work tonight, we need to do that thing with the survey job".

And at that point my head exploded. The shame got to me, the camel's back was broken by the last straw, the last drop made the glass of water overflow in a cascade of liquid anguish all over the kitchen floor, and I could feel my brain changing gears in to crazy mood.

Because in my mind her even suggesting that I would be up for anything more strenous at that point ment I must be a total failure. A let down. Not good enough. That nothing I had done, nothing I had achieved or managed or made myself do had been worth anything. No matter how hard I strain and press myself, it's not even close to being enough. I'll never be enough. I'll never do enough. I can't be good enough, I can't be loved or worthy of love, I can't achieve anything that makes me fit to even live and breath, I haven't earned my keep, neither as her wife, her property nor even as a human being. I need to work 'til I drop and die and be done with it, because nothing else will cut it.

So yeah. It wasn't a great conversation starter, as such. To my credit, all I said was that I wasn't up for it, that I was hurt and upset that she suggested it, and that I wanted to go lay down in the bedroom, alone. That might not sound like a very tempered or reasonable response but compared to what my brain was screaming at me, I was positively cheerful.

And then I did just that, went and laid down, and instead of rehashing every slight and every shameful moment and debating with myself whether I was right to be hurt or not, I did a mindfulness-exercise, a simple but thorough body scan. I can do that now, that's pretty cool actually, even with my mind on fire with anguish and panic and shame I can redirect my consious focus on something of my own choosing.

The feelings are still there, the discomfort and panic and adrenalin surge through the body, but I can still focus my attention on my left toe, my left foot, the leg, the knee and so on. It takes about twenty minutes to go through the whole body, and by then the panic has subsided, the raging fires of despair has died from lack of things to devour, and everythings a little more settled. It's a neat trick.

We talked about it, of course, afterwards, and we'll figure something out. But shame. I hate it. It's the least constructive thing ever. I'm working on it.

The tough and the weak

I miss her. Insanely. I cried today when I finally got to see her on the webcam. I can't remember if I've ever acutally cried from missing her before. And in a way it made it easier. It's not as hard and difficult when I don't have to be strong and brave and tough it out.

This time I don't have to. I don't have to be as strong, because the work isn't as hard. I don't have to go to school or be at home all day alone with the kid, and I'm not even half as tired as I used to be just a little while ago. For the first time in a long while it's not unusual for me to get through a normal day and not be crushed by fatigue and despair some time after dinner.

And I don't have to be as brave, because finally (finally!) both me and the people around me have a realistic view of what I can and can't do (okay, everyone except for my mom, but I'll leave her out of this...). No one is expecting me to not be a wreck when Mistress finally gets home. It's part of the equation. I don't have to feel guilty, and I don't have to hide it. It's okay, it can be what it is.

I'm not normal. I wish I was, or at least that the things that makes my life difficult could be toned down a little, but I'm not. What's new and exciting and uplifting is that I no longer have to act as if I'm normal, and I'm no longer expected to react as if I was. How I'm in fact wired, what really happens with me and my brain, is taken into account now. There's no longer this glaring mismatch between the map (how everybody else works) and reality (how I react in real life).

Which means I can skip the brave face and stay vulnerable. Stay present. Stay in touch with my emotions. And that is so much less work than dealing with the side-effects of the brave-face-approach. The brave face means walls and detachments, means self-sufficiency and loneliness, means independence and distance.

I hate the brave face. I love the privilege of weakness and dependence and softness and crying after Mistress because I miss her so so much, and I need her so so much. I love the freedom that comes with the luxury of openness and vulnerability and honesty and humility. I'm allowed to miss her. I'm allowed the weakness that comes with that feeling now, when I don't have to perform to the utmost of my ability at all times any longer.

I still have to tough it out, though, because today is Tuesday and she'll be home Friday afternoon. Two days down, three more to go. 

General weirdness

We actually do have sex and stuff. Kinky sex to. And we're good, relationship-wise. Everythings good(ish). "As well as can be expected under the circumstances" have been my standard reply for the last five years, and it's still true. The circumstances at this particular time being my fucked up brain and it's inability to get better at the rate I want it to.

I've applied for a job I really want, and they haven't gotten back to me, and I lay awake some nights before going to sleep and worry about never getting an employment. But that's nothing new.

All is well, the kid thrive and Mistress isn't hating her job at the moment. She's even getting home earlier today and picks up little S on her way home, yey!

I've been feeling weird all week, and finally realised it's because I upped my dosage of methylfenidat (ADHD-meds) and that caused some weird sensations. Like all the hair standing up all over my body. Some sort of itchy feeling under the skin, all over. And an inability to relax but at the same time extreme exhaustion. Also, I've been doing some funny thing with my teeth, pressing the lower jaw forward so that the lower front teeth are constantly pushing at the upper front teeth. As if I've been going around all week trying to create an under bite by shear force. It wasn't unpleasant, necessarily, not all the time, but it was extremely unsettling and annoying. I lowered the dose yesterday, and now I'm back to being normally exhausted and dim-witted.

Why can't I get to functional normally without feeling high or hyper? Meh. I was enjoying waking up in the morning with a fully awake and functioning brain. Now it's soon 10 AM, and I still feel like a zombie. A sleepy, dazed zombie. Bleergh. I want it all. I want to wake up and being awake, I want to have the energy to go to the gym, make lunch, fill the dishwasher and still be able to form coherent sentences over dinner. But I don't want to go around gnashing my teeth and feeling high all the time.

And I must admit all these weird feelings and health issues makes the O/p-part of things fall into the background a bit. Mistress is my rock, my best friend, my sanity in all this. She owns me, sure, but I know that. It's not something I spend a lot of time thinking about right now. It's just there, thankfully, making me feel connected and present and as a real person even when I have a lot of reasons to feel like I'm a figment of imagination, drifting alone in the darkness of space. I'm real and I'm here, 'cause I'm hers.

And tonight we're having tacos in front of the telly with the kid spilling salsa over the sofa and me and Mistress cuddling a little behind her back. Just because stuff feels weird inside my brain it doesn't mean that's what the world actually looks like.

Brain managing

Mistress went to Hamburg for two days this week, on a job thing. It felt like it should have been a piece of cake - all I had to do was drop little S off at the pre-school in the morning and get her in the afternoon, make us dinner and watch the telly, and put her to bed. She's still not sleeping through the night most of the time but it's not the nightly terror it used to be - she gets up, you lead her back to bed, she goes back to sleep. She might do it again a couple of times before morning, but there's no crying or fuzziness or trying to get up and having play time between midnight and two any more.

I should have been easy. I thought it would be. I'm overconfident that way. 

Instead, when Mistress got back I was an exhausted wreck. It's true I don't like responsibility. It wasn't the chores themselves that did me in, nor being constantly on call night and day, it was the being all alone with it. When my brain has nothing to stop it, it goes in all directions at once, and the mere act of reigning it in and trying to stay on course makes me exhausted.

Mistress is travelling a couple of more times this fall, once for a whole week, and I have a plan for next time. The first step is stream lining and eliminating as much as possible of the day to day tasks. I hate routine. It's incredibly difficult for me to do things that are boring, and anything that has to be done more than once is definitely on that list. A major clean up of a whole house, all done in one go, working all hours for two days? Count me in! Emptying and refilling the dishwasher once a day everyday several days in row? Kill me now, please.

So - paper plates and labelled dinner boxes. No household things besides the bare bones essentials. That's one thing. Another is eliminating choices. When I have a whole day stretching out before me, or in this case three days, my brain fills them up and rearranges the plans constantly. And I mean constantly. The amount of mental energy spent on figuring out the best schedules and activities is ridiculous. With no one else around saying "it's lunch time" or "you don't have time for that, you were supposed to be doing this" I behave like a butterfly, fluttering about constantly.  I'm going to ask Mistress to write me a schedule, with everything from "watch this movie Tuesday night" to "meet up with this friend at that time for lunch". I don't want alternatives and decisions. Freedom sucks.

And the third and most important part - I need something fun to focus on. Something that engages me and that easily catches my attention. I easily get involved in projects, at least for a while, and it stills my inner butterfly.

Again - I'm a dog. I need a chewing bone. This time I was the restless dog that went from window to window constantly barking at anyone outside, restlessly guarding and waiting, unable to relax until my Owner came home. And I was exactly as stressed out as such dogs usually gets, losing appetite and sleep, feeling run down and depressed, and wanting nothing but sleep when the ordeal is over.

So - a project. A fun, time consuming project that engages me without inducing performance anxiety. I'm thinking I'll sew something, construct a garment from scratch in some nice fabric, and that will keep me occupied enough so that my brain doesn't run amok on me.

Did I mention that ADHD sucks? At least sometimes.

Brazilian, beer and ponies - or something like that.

Yesterday I had a busy day in a couple of different ways, and voila! today I woke up with despair and a slight fever. Yeah. That's the brain I know and love.

I haven't been resting as much as maybe I should have today though, it's a bit of a bind this being restless and hyper and at the same time getting exhausted really quickly. At times Mistress has physically bound me just to allow me some rest from the constant effort of reining myself in. Today she was away all morning and working all afternoon, so I had to do the reining myself, and I have to admit it went so-so.

In the afternoon Mistress unusually went to pick up little S from pre-school and then grocery-shopping (she's a superhero - the idea of doing weekly shopping at the supermarket with a three year old makes my head hurt just thinking about it, but she does that regularly). I did rest, in a way - but I had to mind the laundry and prep some things for dinner, and though the tasks themselves were small and simple they prevented me from relaxing properly. Another fun brain-thingy - if there's a to-do-list around, it revolves constantly around in my head and keeps me on my toes in an active, hyper state. Since I only have like two gears, top one and neutral, having something to do every thirty minutes effectively makes me go all hyper.

Anyway, I spent the time waxing. Like, the Brazilian kind. I've never done that to this extent before, and I did it purely because it was fun and I liked the result. Mistress has approved of my hair-removing activities before, it's been a gradual thing the last couple of years, but her main concern has been me removing to much. She doesn't mind hair, but she really doesn't like the hairless, childlike look, and that has held me back a little.

I'm still not hairless, since Mistress doesn't like that. But I'm more or less hairless on all the places where I don't want to have hair, and it feels great. I think it's pretty.

Mistress said she had to work tonight, and asked me what I wanted to do. "Well", I said, "I want to show you my well-coiffed crotch and then get a sound thrashing." Alas, that's not what's going on. She doesn't much care whether or not there's hairs on my inner thighs, and there's no whips in sight. She's at her computer, and I'm in the bed beside her, drinking non-alcoholic beer and goofing around. I think my evening will be spent watching My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic on youtube.

Oh the joys of being a kinky O/p-couple. My inner twenty-year old are glaring at me and pointing fingers. The worst part of it is that I'm quite happy and content right now. Where will it end?

---

Uhm... Might have to revise the above. When she'd finish working, she did want to see the result. In fact, she wanted to inspect all of me. And whip me for the hairs that were left. And whip me a lot more. And fuck me. And yeah... I have to quit with the whining now. I'm all good. All whipped and fucked and taken care of. This, I must say, is even better.

Setback

For different reasons my brain problems got worse this week, I had a little setback plain and simple. It's very hard not to panic and despair, but when my rational mind takes the lead, I can convince myself that it's perfectly normal. There's ups and downs in everything, and it would be naïve to think my recovery would be a straight line upwards, with me fully functioning and prancing around all day long in August. It's more likely going to be like a mountain climb - a little up, a little down, and every time you reach the crest of one hill you see another rising before you. It's just how it is.

I have ADHD and recurring depressions, and I'm suffering from a burn out that started developing at least since the summer of 2010, and it's not even my first one. It's not going to go away in a puff of smoke in a couple of weeks. Some of it will never go away, and some of it will get better, in it's own time. I have to trust that I'm doing the right things, that my medication is helping, and that rest and time and love and patience will bring healing and recovery eventually.

Also, my worst days now is better than my average days last summer, or even this winter. It's definitely an improvement. I'm just not the super human I think I should be. Accepting that and loving me all the same is, I think, one of the most important parts of the journey I'm doing so far.

Right now I'm eating chips and surfing the web on the couch besides Mistress who's working. I'm counting this as constructive actions in regards to getting better...

A ray of sunshine

And after a day of staying at home, doing things at my own pace, taking a much needed nap before lunch and in general lounging about, I take a shower and when I look at myself in the mirror, I look pretty. Imagine that!

Taking a break

I have only a few tasks today. I'm going to apply for a few jobs, I haven't decided how many yet. Not more than three, but only if I find three that I really want. We're not desperate yet, I can hold off applying for anything with a salary till after the summer.

And then I'm going to go out jogging for a bit. And pick up my meds from the pharmacy. That's it.

Okay, job applying is quite a chore, but I don't have to go anywhere. I don't have things interrupting me. I can call friends if I like, but I'm not seeing anyone or doing anything today.

Oh my God how I need this!

I actually had an exam today. But I haven't had time to study, and my brain is in such a bad state right now Mistress decided my time was better spent at home, recuperating and job hunting. There's another go at the exam in the end of May, I'll take it then instead.

Right now, it's quiet around me. Bliss.

(And little S didn't wake Mistress up at all during the night, we actually woke up before she called for Mommy! I got to snuggle with my wife before breakfast! Best morning ever!)

Reflection over function

Today was a much better day than yesterday. We went on an outing, me and Mistress and little S and grandma and grandpa. We were outside almost all day, and I kept in the background and only interacted as much as I felt like, and slept in the car on the way home. I love that - to be able to come along and participate, but not have to strain myself and do more than what is really healthy for me.

A friend asked me the other day if I would always be like this, this tired and careful about noise and such. And I said that I didn't know, but that it was much better than six months ago, and that I think I'm still healing. Weird business, this brain thing. We don't have any pain receptors in the brain - unfortunately that doesn't mean it can't get hurt.

Of course I wish it would get all better. I have been in much better shape than this, I think. But I also think that the demands put upon a working/studying mother without a fortune in our society is something I'll always struggle with. There's always something to do, there's always demands, routines, people. Things that are supposed to be done at regular intervals, at an even pace. It's completely the wrong set of skills for me, and I don't think I'll eve be able to do them well.

So in a way I'll never get better. I'll never get well enough not to need special consideration, never well enough to be able to do everything people assume I'll do, to live up to this role I'm put in by giving birth to a baby and being born in this time and this place. I will, in that regard, always be a disappointment, a special case, a little less than others.

It makes me kind of sad and a bit afraid thinking about it.

But it makes me relieved to know and accept that this is so. The lifelong struggle of denial was much more agonising and frustrating. I don't have to judge myself by others yardstick any more. If I judge myself and what I can do in a more fair way, based on what I now know about my cognitive functions, then I'm both impressive and awesome.

I have a beautiful loving family. My wife loves me and wants me in her life forever. My daughter is pretty and talented and well behaved and funny and kind and seems to have a good life, and she loves us both and I'm pretty sure she knows she's loved, which is the most important thing.

Thanks to Mistress I have my drivers license. I live in a reasonably clean and comfortable home. We have a lovely dog that is well taken care of. And I'm about to finish a very taxing university program, and graduate as a psychologist in June.

And I have a handful of wise, warm, loving friends who knows me for who I really am, and who still likes me. My life is good. I'm good enough. And having all this, having accomplished all this, despite a brain that doesn't really work like other's do - that makes me not only good enough but absolutely awesome.

Easter breakdown

We're on vacation at my in-laws place. Four days without school nor job, with actual free time together, and not the least, with mother-in-law taking care of the kid from the time she wakes up at six until the time we venture downstairs, around nine thirty.

This morning we used the morning in bed to have glorious sex. It took us a couple of days before we had slept enough and spent enough time together before we got around to it, but it was definitely worth the wait.

And then, this morning, we had planted a surprise for little S. We bought her a bike last week, and hid it in the basement yesterday, with a string going from it and out in the yard. The plan was for her to play outside after breakfast, discovering the string, follow it and get the bike as a surprise. I had planned this for months and was looking forward to it with great excitment.

There turned out to be a snag, though. I pretty big one as far as I was concerned. Mistress and  me had completely different time tables in mind, and had failed to communicate about it. Mostly, I think, because we both thought our own was so completely logical, it didn't dawn on either of us that the other one might have a different view.

Mistress wanted to spare the surprise to last. She appreciated the time spent outside, she was working on a project freeing the garage door from ice (it's still wintery around here) and was happy that little S was playing nicely with her doll and the snow and the gravel. She was oblivious to the fact that I was anxiously waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

At first it was okay. I was enjoying the sun and playing with the dog and everything was okay. But then I started to realise that things didn't go the way I had planned them. Why wasn't Mistress leading the kid towards the string? Why didn't she act?

Time went on, I got more and more fidgety and tried to ask Mistress about it, but it was hard to communicate about something that was a secret and a surprise when the kid was right next to us. Eventually little S got tired and started whining, and then I was a little bit more insistent, asking again about "when?". But I still don't think Mistress got how I was feeling or that we had strayed very far from the scenario I had envisioned.

At long last, Mistress signalled that okay, I might lead her to it, but I didn't want to lead her. I wanted her to find it, and the only way to do that was to make her play in that general area of the yard. But Mistress was busy with her project, and little S was playing by her, and when I tried to stir up some interest around the string-area, nothing happened. I asked Mistress to join me, and she answered me with a flat "no". And that was when I broke down.

I couldn't stand it anymore. My brain melted. I was overcome with despair and the only thing I could think of doing was fleeing, which I promptly did. I just left everything and walked away out on the street, and walked a 100 metres to where the postboxes were.

Eventually I calmed down, went back, Mistress and little S played around the string by then, she found it, and eventually the bicycle and everything happened as I'd planned it to. Except for me biting back sobs and blinking away tears, refusing to look at Mistress and talking to little S in a false cheerful tone of voice.

We managed to clear it up later, mostly by text. I don't think either one of us had known before how hard it is for me to wait for something. Or well, I know of course, but I'm so skilled by now at not putting myself in situations where I have to wait that it's rarely a problem. But this time I was powerless to prevent it, and what happens is total break down of my brain.

This is one of the aspects of ADHD for me. This is one of the things that makes me exhausted, why it is a disability. I can deal up to a point, like a damn filling with water, but past that point the damn brakes and there is a flood of rage and despair. I tried to hint at Mistress that I found it difficult, but I wasn't very clear, and she wasn't all that perceptive.

Now I'm more or less okay, a couple of hours later, but the tears are still about to well up every now and then and I feel exhausted and anxious. I don't know if I should take one of my anxiety-pills or if I should just hope it will pass on it's own. It's very apparent it wasn't a very beneficial exercise for my brain, that's for sure.

I wish I had a more normal brain. I wish I could wait, like most people. I wish normal everyday interaction wouldn't cause a nuclear breakdown in my head. But this is me, and this is how I function, and we'll just have to work around.

And little S loved her bike, and that makes it all a little better.

Setback

One can always tell when I start to feel worse, because then I go quiet. Depression silence me.

Maybe because I know the stupid things going around and around in my head isn't real, isn't worth repeating. I don't want to ruminate on the internet. Or maybe it's the other way around - all my energy is spent on placating the inner demons, and none is left for communicating with the world outside of my brain.

Depression is a sucky, sucky disease.

Anyway, it's March now and that means that the sun has returned and is finally feeling warm again. That part at least is somewhat glorious. Also, it's Thursday, which means soon it's the week-end. I'm holding on to my belief that the week-end will be better than the week.

Now I'll go pour scolding hot coffee at the inner demons and hope that makes them shut up for a while. A shower would probably be wise too.

Solving a conflict

I made a mistake the other day.

I had a meeting yesterday with my thesis colleague and the person who's going to grade it in the end, to see if he would allow us to go forward with our idea for the study. He had expressed some doubts, we'd tried to rectify it, and then he had answered "this is so complicated I think I need to see you before I can agree to this". That scared us, badly - I had visions of not being allowed to continue, of being grilled about the statistics of the study (of which I know almost nothing) and about having to come up with a whole different concept.

In the end it turned out that he had misunderstood us, which says very bad things about our ability to convey our aim and methodology in text, but fortunately nothing about the design of our study or statistics, so we got a go-ahead and are finally approved for that part of the course. Yey!

But. We decided to hook up before the meeting, have lunch together and go through his comments and try to think of some answers. And I didn't tell Mistress.

To me, a meeting at one o'clock and deciding to have lunch before kind of equates. It means I'm booked for the lunch and the afternoon that day, and that I'll be away from home, and somehow I figured that was all Mistress needed to know. She, on the other hand, checked on the calendar that I had a meeting at one and thought that good, then I could go to the local vet and buy special kidney-friendly dog food, because they opened at twelve. And she declared that to me over breakfast, I panicked and spluttered and stammered and said that I already had a meeting at that time and couldn't do it, she got pissed off and glared at me - and here's where the interesting thing happened.

I mean, all of the above is just our normal day to day thing. She wants to keep track of me all the time, I try to oblige but routinely fails because... well, honestly, because of ADHD. Because I'm a scatterbrain. Because I make plans and then promptly forgets about them. This is nothing new, and not all that exciting.

But. When she gets pissed off like that, I have for years decided that she doesn't get pissed off in the right way. Yeah. I'm bright like that. She doesn't go all domly-dom on me, she doesn't correct me or yell at me, a lot of the time she doesn't event tell me what I've done wrong (okay, that part I think will always bother me, since I'm not telepathic). She gets mad, for real, and hurt, for real, and she shows it by withdrawing and disengaging. Not to punish me, simply because that's her genuine reaction when she's hurt and angry.

And it used to piss me off so bad. Because it makes me feel like my innards falls to the floor and someone electrocuted my brain - it's an instant break down of the whole system. Massive pain. And, naturally, feeling like that makes me panic, and when I panic I attack. So the process is usually like this: I fail at something she wants me to do - Mistress gets angry and hurt - I interpret that as a catastrophe, and lashes out at her - she gets defensive and withdraws - I get defensive and feel sorry for myself - we both feel miserable.

This time, when she said (! Not using not-working-telepathy!!) that she didn't like me not telling her about my plans, I simply said "you're right, I'm sorry." And then I said it a couple of more times, and eventually, I think she got that I really meant it and that it wasn't a preface to "...but really, it was your fault because you...!". It was my fault. It's not unfair of her to be displeased with me when I don't follow orders. She doesn't have a duty to show that displeasure in any certain way in order to make it less uncomfortable to me. It's my fault, and any aversive feelings her displeasure causes me is both inside me, not coming from her, and  well-deserved rather than unfair.

Before she left, she gave me an slap and forgave me, and before she got home from work I'd managed to get to the vet before closing time and get the dog food. And we didn't fight and I again learned that it isn't the end of the world if I screw up and everything is so much easier if I just own up to my mistakes and don't fight it.

A movie-night

The upside of being tied up from head to toe and securely attached to the radiator is that it makes me relaxed enough to actually be able to watch a whole movie in one go. In this case "Snow-white and the huntsman", on the mattress in the living room, curled up besides Mistress.

The downside of being tied up from head to toe while watching a movie? I don't know, I like this stuff.

Everyday life

I wish I had more energy. I want to finish Mistress socks that I'm knitting, instead I just sit here. I'm waiting for her to finish working, but I'm a little afraid to. I'm afraid we'll start arguing, or that I'll disappoint her somehow, or I don't know - I'm probably afraid that she wont feel good and that I wont be able to make it better.

She was really tired and felt yucky this morning. I think we're both very aware of the fact that she's working a lot, she's been a superhero all fall, and really we've both been since I got pregnant. Sometimes I get the distinct feeling that the two of us simply isn't cut out for this life. Not for life in general, mind, just this one. In this society. With the specific demands placed on us, in this time and place.

I'm so worried that she'll end up were I am. Clinically depressed and burnt out. I need her not to be. And I can't help her, and it makes my stomach turn to knots.

But really, other then being tired right now, I've had a good day. My mom came over for dinner, so that Mistress could work late without me being alone with little S and fixing food. It was nice, the best part was that after dinner I actually hung out with them, I didn't retreat to my room and collapsed. I am getting better. I really am.

But then mom offered to take little S on Friday afternoon, and it wasn't until after awhile I realised her offer encompassed me being home alone with little S the whole morning and making lunch to the three of us. That made the offer a lot less tempting. "Oh, but I don't want to pick her up from pre-school, it'll take to long. It's only around three hours you'll be alone with her."

Yeah. I've been alone with little S around one hour tops this fall. I wish that was a reasonable thing to expect from me. But even more I wish that my own mom, that I see every week, would realise that it isn't. It makes me sad, and a little hurt, that she doesn't get it. But she doesn't. And she's 62 - she wont change. She'll never get it. I have no idea why, but for some reason, there is some things that just wont stick. One of them sees to be me not being able to do certain things.

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Mistress actually liked the idea - we planned our Christmas shopping for Friday morning, and it's good for little S to start her Christmas break early. It's all fine. I just still wish I could have a little more tension-free relationship with my mother.

The concept of service

I started a thread in a FetLife-group about service, and feel like I should write something in it, but every time I try it turns out way to long in my head. And if it's to long in my head, it will most probably be very much to long as a post in a discussion. It will have to be a blog post instead. Maybe I can distil some of it into something coherent later.

The thing is, I don't like service. I don't like the word, but it's not on a phonetic level, much like with responsibility I'm perfectly aware of what it means, and just plain don't like it. Actually, responsibility and service touch upon much of the same issues for me.

One of the posts in the discussion mentioned service as being "available for action" and that struck a chord. I can't do that. I can't be "available" for an unclear period of time. I can't wait on anyone, in either sense of the word. I can barely keep my focus in a conversation, and if my fellow conversationalist take to long a breathing pause between sentences, I'm likely to wander off and do something else in the meantime. I have a very short working memory and attention span, and honestly, waiting exhausts me.

So I can't sit by Mistress' feet and wait for a hand gesture or the right time to do something. I can't keep track of the water level in her drinking glass - I mean, I can barely keep track of my own head, and that's screwed on tight. I can't take responsibility for her comfort level, period. She'll have to do that herself. Not because I don't want to, but because I'm extremely bad at it, and get sick from stress and exhaustion when I try. And also, before I get sick, I get really really irritable and snarky.

What I can do is sit by her feet and rest. Not on stand by, not waiting, just sitting. I can be turned off and not do anything. That works perfectly fine. But I can't do that and also remember a steak in the oven, hanging the laundry when the cycle is done, or checking whether Mistress would like a refill on her coffee. If I'm off I'm off, and want get started again without some kind of cue.

That cue might very well be an order, there's no problems there, but it has to be a distinct order, something that is loud enough to get my attention, and a discreet hand signal or an empty coffee mug isn't enough. The cue might be an egg timer telling me to check the steak or the silence when the washing machine stops (actually, we have a community laundromat, and no machine of our own, but if we did have one) or something as internal as me needing to pee or getting a leg cramp. But there has to be something, something tangible and clear. Then I get going again, and do all those things I need to do, for a while, until I rest again. There's no middle ground. There's no waiting. There's no "being available".

Of course, this has to do with ADHD. I don't think this is true for everybody with the diagnosis, it can manifest in a thousand ways, but I do think that for me the deficit in working memory and attention span, as well as the tendency to only have two energy levels, full speed or full stop, makes "service" a difficult concept. It seems to require a kind of constant, low grade attention directed at the Owner and that persons needs and possible future needs, and I can't give anything that kind of attention. Not that I don't want to, but it takes a ridiculous amount of effort when I try, and I still do it badly.

I do better at obedience. Some people in the discussion implied that all kinds of obedience was a form of service, but for me it's easier to see it as two different things. I can be obedient. I might have trouble remembering rules, and sometimes my lack of inhibition and impulse control (ADHD again) gets the better of me, but I never intend to disobey. And a clear order face to face I always obey.

It's the forethought I can't do. Foreseeing needs and trying to fulfil them.Or doing something extra good, or whatever. I always do everything as good as I can - trying to increase that in the name of service makes me cry from performance anxiety.

I need to learn not to over-achieve, not to take responsibility for others needs, not to think my worth lies solely in performance. The concept of "service" seems to do nothing for me in that regard, it's more a hindrance than a help. Obedience and control, however, makes me peaceful and content and happy, and thus a much better slut and property and person to be around.

The funny thing though is that I love fetching stuff for Mistress. I love doing things that makes her happy, or more comfortable, or makes something she wants to achieve easier. I love helping her and I love it when she's happy with me. But it's better for both of us if I can do that when the opportunities presents themselves to me, or when she orders me to it, and not having me walking around with constant anxiety over whether or not I provide a high enough level of service. Because that's just draining.

I think it might matter that I'm naturally inclined to always do my best even if it kills me, to always take responsibility for everything including things I have no way of controlling, and to immediately be acutely aware of anyone else's discomfort and feel driven to make everything better. That fire really doesn't need any more fuel on it, such as me thinking I need to deliver "service". That fire needs some water and a good stomping, nothing else.

So I think I'll keep on feeling controlled and knowing I obey, and trust that Mistress will guide me where she wants me to go, without me going out of my way in making things more complicated then they already are. She wont get a service-slut this year either. Maybe some other year, if I can pick one up for her on any local fetish party. But it wont me.

Different perspectives

Mistress went away over night in the beginning of the week, she had a job meeting in another town. Neither of us likes it. We do separate sometimes, either because life demands it of us, or because one of us want to do things the other doesn't. But if there is any way, we stay together.

I hated having her gone. When she's not around, my world gets... insecure. Shaky. Everything feels a little bit dangerous. It's as if I'm walking on a tightrope. When she's here I'm just walking around, nothing special, and the minute she leaves town, the road is a thin rope and under it is a gaping chasm, incredibly deep and filled with crocodiles. Nothing bad happens to me as long as I walk carefully, but the fear factor is way bigger.

My mother came over and had dinner with us and cleared the table and played with little S while I walked the dog. Clearing the table is one of those tasks I get really exhausted doing, it's way to many choices and clutter and stuff, so it meant a big deal that she did that.

But then we ended up on the sofa after little S had fallen asleep, and talked and talked and talked. Good talk, in many ways, but also heart wrenching. We talked about stuff we've never talked about before. The divorce when I was nine. Why she moved away then, why we didn't live full time with her. Why they separated. My childhood. If there was things that could have been done differently. If they should have been done differently. (Hell yeah.)

And about now. About how we keep walking in to each other, hurting each other. About why she's tip-toeing around me, afraid of saying things. And about little S. About why she tries so hard to convince me that our struggles, our pain, is common and natural and nothing not everybody with small children experiences. And she actually listened when I tried to tell her why I don't think that is so.

Apparently, when I try to evoke sympathy from her, when I want her comfort and her pity and her understanding, she things I blaim little S. She doesn't separate the experience of being a parent, and our experience of lacking basic necessities like sleep and sanity, from the love for the child. And from that point of view, of course she doesn't want to pity me. Because she said she would feel like she pitied me for having little S.

That hurt me. It hurt me that she obviously doesn't see how I feel for my kid. That the love I hold for her doesn't shine through. Two things comfort me though. One is that I do think little S sees it. I hold her, I hug her, I comfort her, I play with her, I tell her I love her and that she's the finest person there is, and most importantly I don't tell her a lot of other stuff. I don't take my irritation or fatigue or frustration out on her. I really don't. But I do show it to my own mother, and I do get hurt when she shuts me down or tell me my experience isn't valid.

The other comforting thing is that I think she lets her own experience get in the way when she interprets mine. She and dad got two kids very close together, and they lived far from their own parents, in a house in bad condition, working hard and having very little money, and my big brother was hyper allergic. I don't think she remembers much from that time, but I do think it's important for her to think that they made it al right. And from that follows that if they managed that situation, of course me and Mistress can manage our situation, and there's no need for her to pity us, or sympathise, or help out.

The ironic part is that she does help out. Quite a lot. It's not really the practical side of things that's my problem. It's the attitude. The snide comments. The clearly stated idea that we could make it easier and practical for ourselves, without asking if her solutions have been tried already or if we have any particular reasons we're not trying them (they always have and we always have reasons). And the absolutely adamant attitude that our kid is like everybody else's kids, that all kids are the same and that we don't have it any more difficult than anybody else, and therefore have nothing to complain about.

That I have a problem with.

All this talk was inspired by me getting an ADHD-diagnosis, of course. Somehow, it made it possible to talk about. And to me, it's an opening to say "hey, look, we do have it harder than many others. Could you stop moralising and brushing me off and just feel for me for a moment?". I wish I wouldn't have to have a diagnosis of a life long cognitive impairment just to get sympathy. I wish she would have seen me as I am, in the situation I am in, without the glasses provided by the diagnosis. I wish me suffering would have been enough. But somehow, it wasn't. Now she can't deny it any more at least, and that does make it feel better.

I don't know what her problem is about the diagnosis. For me, it explains a lot. It makes things make sense that before didn't. But for her... I think she now has to go back and change her whole impression of me. Or maybe I just hope she will?

Every time she criticised me, every time she yelled at me, every time I went without lunch or warm clothes and she scoffed at me and made it into my own fault for forgetting, every time she gave me to much responsibility and then scolded me for not living up to it, she now has to re-interpret. I was never lazy. I was never un-ambitious. I did care, a lot. I just couldn't do it. And I think realising that has made her change her point of view a little, or at least starting to change it.

Her main issue however is our suspicion that little S might have something similar that I have. Every time we hint at little S being more energetic, having more temper, or being more sensitive than the average child, she shoot it down. She just doesn't want to hear it. And now, when we talked, I realised she thinks we're blaming the kid. That we're angry or resentful or something at her for being how she is.

We're not. In our eyes, she's perfect. But the things demanded from us in taking care of her often exceeds our  resources. To the point of me finally breaking down and becoming really sick. We simply can't do it. That doesn't mean we love her one iota less, it just means we're sometimes very frustrated and tired, and often angry at society and the people around us for not helping us out. For letting us drown and standing by watching, shrugging. That frustrates us. That makes us angry. Not the kid. She's who she is, and she deserves the best. But when we can't give her what she needs, even when we literary work ourself into the ground, being told "well, being a parent is hard" and "you're no worse off than anyone else" is not what we need to hear.

"I'm so sorry for you, I hope it gets better soon" is what I want to hear. "Poor you, I know it must be hard, I feel for you". Not "poor you for having such a bad child" which I think is what my mom think I mean, but "poor you for not being allowed to sleep nearly as much as you need" or something similar. The love for a child doesn't take away basic needs like sleep or food.

I don't know if it's any harder to take care of little S than of any three-year old. I do know that kids are different from each other, because I know a bunch of them. And I do know that parenting can be  very different experiences. I also do know that for us, it has been really really challenging. And that some of the things that we have had to do and live through has been suffering, for real. And I want that to be mirrored by those I'm close to.

Mom and I stayed up to eleven talking, and then I slept lousy, waiting for little S to call to me in the night. We went up early, and when I'd finally dropped little S off at pre-school I went to the University and had a therapy session with a patient. When the patient left the room after an hour, I shut the door and just sat there. My brain couldn't take anymore.

And it's interesting to see how it works. All our sessions is on camera, and on the recording nothing shows of my fatigue, I'm doing a good session. But I can't keep that up. Afterwards, my brain just shut down. I had to sit for a long while before I could go get coffee, and then I had to go lie down for almost and hour in a completely dark room before I could muster enough energy to go write my rapport about the session.

I have been shaky ever since. I got through a busy Wednesday on coffee and calming pills, suffering through repeated panic attacks all day brought on by the fatigue, and then I slept and went around like a zombie all Thursday. Today I'm still affected, but I'm getting better. I'm counting on being back up on my usual base-line around Monday, but it gets very obvious that even if the immediate effect of  getting exhausted as I did on Tuesday goes away after a few hours, the lingering effects last for days. I can't afford it. I can fake it in the moment, it doesn't effect patients or my performance, but I suffer from it.

I'm glad I know to rest now. I don't try to force myself forward anymore, I don't get angry with myself. I just have to accept that this is how I function. I can stretch my resources a great deal, but if I don't stop in time, I will take a long time afterwards to recover. And if I don't the end result is the state I was in this summer, something I would very much prefer never to experience again.

Today I'm going to eat lunch, and fill the car with our pre-packed bags for a weekend with my in-laws. And walk the dog. That's about it. And that's perfect.

How it is.

Mistress worked from home today, but was away between breakfast and lunch time. When she was on her way back, she called me, and among other things she asked me to make her a cup of coffee for when she returned. I dutifully said "Yes Mistress!" and then promptly forgot about it. I finished my own coffee, changed clothes, managed to corner the dog so that I could get his little jacket on, and then went out on a run with him. Five minutes later I remembered the coffee.

I turned around, jogged all the way home (with a confused doggy jumping beside me) and made coffee. When I was finally done and had made it out of the house again, Mistress arrived. She completely agreed on my prioritising, and kissed me good bye as I went out on a second try at getting some exercise.

Anyway. The point is that this is what happens when you've bad working memory. I was officially diagnosed with ADHD a week ago. This is who I am. This is how I function. I can absolutely be meaning to do something, and then completely lose track of it for a while. And I spent the whole last year fighting this, trying my absolutely hardest to change, to do better, to straighten up and manage life like everybody else does. The only thing that got me was a complete, clinical burn-out, depression  and a lot of anger and arguments.

I can't make this go away.

I can compensate. I can use things to make me remember. I can live a life where nothing catastrophic occurs if I don't remember. But most of all, the most important thing, is that I can forgive myself.

Before, I would have berated myself all the way home, I would have had a furious monologue in my head about what a terrible person I am, what a disappointment and burden for Mistress, how stupid and worthless of me to not even be able to remember a direct order for five minutes. It's a strategy of sorts - emotions help memory, fear and anger can help to motivate actions, and it probably would raise my ability to remember a similar order in a similar situation a little bit. But only a little bit. And to a monstrous cost.

It was so good to realise I don't do that any more. Now I actively try not to be ashamed, not to be angry. When the inner monologue start I identify it and ignore it. It's not true. I'm not bad. I'm not disrespectful. It's not a matter of not trying.

This is just how I'm wired. I'm impulsive. I've got a bad working memory. I have problem concentrating. I need more sleep than most people. I have strong feelings, strong impulses, fast reflexes, intense energy. This is just me. The only thing that happens if I hate myself over it is that I have less energy left to other things.

Luckily, it's me Mistress wants. She did say I was an "epic failure" at being a house wife a while ago, but added that I was a very good slut. And I guess that's how it is. If she wants someone to manage her house work, she'll have to get another slave.

(That would be kind of cute. She could get some pretty submissive boy who could walk around here half naked, help us out with little S, and keep things clean. I bet that when I've graduated and have a job we could support a third person together.)

If she sticks with me, what she'll get is a devoted mother to her child, a loving partner, a obedient slut and an understanding friend. But she wont get someone who remembers a lot of things or has any sense of order and structure. That's just how it is.

Still tired

Yesterday was a hard day. The clock was set back this weekend, and the change in schedule messes with all of us in the family. I think that was one of the reasons I was really really tired. And we had a busy week before that, a fun week but a busy one. We only had the one night in together, for the rest there was me going do the dojo for ju-jutsu, Mistress being a work event, me going to a party and so on.

And yesterday I started my week with four hours of lecture, from 8 to 12. Then I had a therapy client at four thirty and in between I had to get down town to leave my bike off for service. All of these things were essential, non-negotiable. Usually I would skip an hour or two from a four hour lecture, because my head really can't take that, but this was the first and only lecture in a five-week course, and we're only eight people there. Me leaving would have been noticed, one might say.

I was dead tired already when I got up, and took two of my anxiety pills even before leaving the apartment. It's no fun bicycling through the town and especially up the big hill in the middle during an anxiety attack. I didn't start to feel better until half way through the first hour, and then I got exhausted instead, and was about to fall asleep throughout the lecture.

The anxiety stayed with me all day, and it was raining and the cycle repair shop was closed and everything seemed to go wrong. And eventually Mistress sent me a text asking if I was angry or unsure of her or what was the problem because I was addressing her in an unusual manner. I looked through my texts from the day and realised I hadn't called her "Mistress" once. There were a lot of "Kiss!" and one "I love you!" but no "yes Mistress" or "thank you Mistress".

Sometimes she's very perceptive. And yes, there was something wrong. Not between her and me, but between my ears. I was all caught up in angst and exhaustion, and in order to get through the day I shut down. I do that sometimes, when I'm overwhelmed. And apparently calling her "Mistress" is not something I do just because, or without thinking. It's a conscious act of submitting and connecting, and when I'm shut down I'm neither submissive nor connecting. I'm on autopilot, and not very nice at all.

I'm glad she caught me. I'm glad she gave me the opportunity to feel inside and to explain and to fall into her arms once I got home. And then I ditched the ju-jutsu and crawled in to her lap and spent the evening collared and with my head on her chest watching teve.

Today all I've got is a client in the afternoon. The rest of the day is spent on the sofa. I was out running for a short spell too, and now it's lunchtime.

I think it's safe to say that I'm not well yet, and that I have a long way to go before my capacity is back up to normal. And even then my normal doesn't really look like anyone else's normal.

Sickness and sex

And now I have a cold and a fever and bleeeh. I wanted to go to the dojo today, I've taken up ju-jutsu classes again together with a friend, and it's a lot of fun. But no, not with a fever.

And this is not like I had all spring, with a slight fever and dizziness and nausea - that was stress, and now when I know what it is, I've realised exercise actually helps and makes me feel better when I experience those symptoms. Unfortunately this is virus and exercise will only make it worse. Not to mention that I'm tired and off my game and would most likely spread snot and virus all over everyone else. And also, Mistress said I couldn't go.

The good thing is that I'm not feeling guilty. Or panicky. Or secretly relieved that I have a legitimate excuse to lessen my workload for a few days. Or ashamed of feeling relieved. I used to feel all of that, and some confusion and some more shame on top of that, every time I got sick, my whole life. Now I realise it was because the stressors of everyday life was too much for me to begin with, I was constantly pushed beyond what I could handle, and had constant angst because of that. That made being physically, noticeably sick a very mixed experience, riddled with shame and guilt.

Now, possibly for the first time since early childhood, the demands put on me is not more than I can handle, and I'm not full of guilt about the things I can and cannot do. And then a cold is simply a small annoyance, irritating but not something to fret about. Suddenly I realise how most people have it all the time.

I cancelled my appointment with a client tomorrow morning, it doesn't seem very professional to sneeze all over her. And also, I didn't want to go there. I wanted to be at home and nurse my cold and rest and feel better, and so I'll do that. Without angst. I'll most probably go to the seminar in the afternoon (if I don't feel a lot worse) and to a lecture Wednesday morning, because both of those is mandatory to the point of me having to do them next semester if I miss it, so it might be worth it to attend. But that's it. I don't have anything else mandatory this week, and I'm so glad it doesn't seem like the world is ending because I have a cold.

If little S gets it and can't go to pre-school, now that's another matter. Or if little S gets and and Mistress does, at the same time. Then I don't know what we're going to do - suffer, I guess. But for now, it's just me, and to be honest, I don't do much at home at this point anyway. Laying in my bed snuffling is not much different from laying in my bed not snuffling.

If I'd been feeling fine we might have had a lot of nice sadistic sex today, though. That would have been a more interesting blog topic. But obviously me with a head ache and a congested nose is not a turn on for Mistress, and there was only snuggling and conversations.

Saturday, though, was a different matter - I had done the packing for once, including the packing fo the toys, and Mistress got inspired. I found myself blindfolded, gagged and with taped wrists, and she beat me at all manner of places before she let me satisfy and eventually fucked me with her hand. I love being gagged and blindfolded - it takes away every impulse of action, and leaves nothing but sensation and trepidation. Oh, and I love Mistress. Especially in her leather pants. 

Strengths, weaknesses and forgiveness

One of my main problems is that the responsibilities of a relatively poor thirty-something mother to a small child requires a skill-set is utterly unsuited to my strength and abilities. Kids and homes need structure, routine, predictability, order, the same things done at specific times at an even speed throughout the day. It's all about remembering time, keeping track of schedules, finding things, keeping things in order, focusing on several things at once, sorting information and keeping your calm.

I suck at all those things.

And since this is the work load I've got, I go through my days feeling constantly inadequate, with a never ending nagging feeling of not being good enough, of letting down my kid, and even worse, of letting down Mistress. I can't seem to shed the idea that she will look at me with disdain and cast me aside, seeing me unworthy as a partner and as a slave, since I'm so bad at the things I'm supposed by the circumstances and society to be doing.

And, since I spend a lot of times doing things I'm inherently bad at, I lose focus of the things I'm actually good at. I mean, I'm not useless. I just have some areas that I'm unusally weak at. But I also have some amazing strengths.

I'm full of life and laughter and fantasy. I'm imaginative and a good story-teller and an excellent mingler. I'm good at making friends and making people feel appreciated and at ease. I'm a good people person. I read very fast, and I learn very fast, and I have an intuitive nack for grokking systems, I can understand very complex things at a glance. I'm practical too, I'm good at carpentry and gardening and sewing and constructing things, and I'm good with animals. I'm physically strong, I can lift heavy things and work hard. I can take care of myself.

Actually, I'm good at almost everything that doesn't include paperwork, administration, order, routine, keeping an even speed at work or doing boring stuff for a long time.

I've been trying my hardest for the last year to be something that I'm not. To live up to a role, that of a classic mother and housewife, that is extremely illsuited for me. I've done this in part because I've thought it is what Mistress demandes of me. Because I thought that what she most needed was an equal partner in the house, or even more, a housewife, someone to take care of her home and her kid. I wanted to be that.

But what it got us was me being sick. In the end, I succumbed to exhaustion and eventually depression. I can't do it. Not that I don't want to, or am afraid to try it, what happened was that I broke down trying.

I have to rearrange my everyday life to get better and to stay better. I have to seek out and spend time at things that gives me energy and self-esteem, and accept and forgive myself for not being good at the things I'm weak at.

We've talked about it, and the thing is that Mistress has made it very clear that 1) she knew this about me since she met me fifteen years ago 2) she doesn't mind covering for my weak sides and complement my weaknesses with her strengths and 3) as long as I am myself I can't fail. She will never ever tire of me, abandon me or despise me, and I believe her.

And to her, she much prefer having a healthy slave that she has to tell to do the vacuuming and empty the dishwasher, to having a depressed, exhausted one who really really tries to remember but still forgets...

So right now, I'm scratching my creative writing itch by blogging, while she's busy playing with little S, much as she has all day. And I wish it was the other way around, but right now, I'm focusing on getting better, and instead of beating myself up about being a lousy slave, wife and mother I'm full of gratitude for the things she does for me, and proud of myself for taking care of me and making constructive choices in order to get better.

I'm never going to be a good housewife. But that doesn't mean I can't be a valuable partner, a good property and a good enough mother. But I do need to focus on my strength and allowing myself to do the things that comes naturally to me and is easy for me, instead of beating myself bloody over things that is near-impossible.

And yes, if I was a single mother, I would've been in debt, living in filth, having a child with dirty clothes that ate things out of boxes most days. Or, perhaps, getting help from society in various forms. That's my reality. That doesn't make me less valuable as a human, though, and since I'm blessed with a fantastic partner, our home is clean and our child is healthy and we have enough money. I just have to forgive myself for not being the one that makes it happen.