Mistakes

Have I mentioned I’m in therapy? I’m sure I have. Yesterday was therapy day.

I talked about a situation at work. I had made a mistake. I had assumed something, because that was convenient, and with some other things outside of my control, let to an error. I was a writhing mass of anxiety. I don’t make mistakes at work. So I brought it up at therapy. Any kind of “badness” or conflict creates this massive anxiety in me.

After we talked in therapy, we figured out together why. I don’t want to be “in trouble,” or yelled at, or anger thrown at me. I’m a grown woman. It seems that I’m fine when it comes to conflict involving my kids’ care (Hello, mama bear!) but me? Not so much. So we kept going back further and further. While I do come from an abuse situation, it feels like it stems from my very first memory.

I was living in New Jersey with Jeannette (my biological mother, for those who don’t know my story) and my “step-father.” Quotes – because I don’t know if they were ever actually married. In our apartment, I was coloring in a book on the kitchen floor. I went “outside the lines,” and colored on the floor accidentally. When my step-father questioned me, I lied and said it wasn’t me. He picked me up, and took me, my crayons, and my coloring books, put us all in the bathtub and turned on the shower (cold not hot). At the time, I had a terrible fear of the shower, so I was always given baths. The result? Coloring outside the lines, literally and figuratively, practically gives me hives. I didn’t take a shower for years. Probably not until I was about 14. And I hate hate hate making a mistake and/or getting in trouble. It eats at my stomach.

So… We talked about how despite the fact that I’m really good at my job, I’m still a human being, and human beings aren’t perfect. That’s life, and life is messy.

Sometimes I hate being a human. Humans hurt.