I was bullied for about five years, more than thirty years ago, and I still didn’t want to write about it today because some part of me is still ashamed. That’s the thing about being bullied, you know. Even when people tell you it’s not your fault, and that the problem is with the bully not you, you don’t believe them – not all the way.
This past weekend Dreamy, the kids, and I took off on Friday for a long weekend in a secluded cabin deep in the mountains. The idea was to totally disconnect from the busy-ness and general chaos that is part and parcel of daily life in our society (and our lives) and reconnect with the busy-ness and general chaos that is our family. We’ve been at this cabin before, in June of 2016, and many things have changed, but many have stayed the same. Both times we left feeling it was an unqualified success and in both cases that was mostly due to our ability to accept unanticipated deviations from the expected as…well, the expected.
My mission as a writer is to encourage and inspire others, but as a mom to three small children, a wife, and an entrepreneur for three business, sometimes things get overwhelming. I don’t know about you, but for me it’s like everything is going amazingly well, and I’m firing on all cylinders, and then BAM! the wheels start falling off. I’m usually an upbeat, laugh-in-the-face-of-pretty-much-everything kind of gal, which sometimes makes it difficult for me to admit when I’m not doing so well, or ask for help. Because I deal with pain by laughing at it, it’s hard for people to know when I’m actually not doing okay.
There’s no such thing as Mommy Guilt. To suggest there is is doing women everywhere a disservice, because the guilt and shame we women take on as a mantle from pretty much birth is in no way restricted to mothers. We all receive it as a legacy whether we want it or not, and we owe it to ourselves, sisters, friends, mothers, and especially our daughters, to take it off, look at it, and throw it in the trash where it belongs, and when someone tries to make us take it back, we see it for what it is, and say “No thank you, I’ve had enough for now. If that’s okay with you. Sorry.” (because girls are supposed to be polite, right?).
Hi, my name is Carrie and I’m a survivor of Rampant Perfectionist Syndrome (RPS). This is a disease millions of women face, and has been on the increase ever since we were ‘liberated’ to enjoy full-time careers and full-time motherhood (at the same time), in an era where ultra-lean, muscular physiques became a requirement and where social media exploded to help us understand just how important an immaculate home, creative décor, crafty DIY everything, glamorous vacations, perfect relationships, funny friends, and impeccably behaved children really were.
I don’t know about you, but I’m a very special, unique individual with a complicated life, an unusual story, a background that has things in it I’d rather weren’t, a messy family, a cluttered house, a big heart, good intentions, a well-developed sarcasm muscle, a sometimes dysfunctional body image, chronic dissatisfaction with certain aspects of society, severe introversion with tendencies towards rabid attention-seeking, not enough time, intermittent anxiety about things I can’t control, and above all a desire to leave a positive impact on the world and the people I love.
So my #firstborn is starting #kindergarten next week. I know millions of kids have started kindergarten before but our situation and my child is unique. You see, she is my firstborn and is the cleverest, smartest, most awesome kid in the universe. The struggle is real.