Living up to my own expectations is hard. I beat myself up about nearly everything. Laundry not done (where is that pair of warm tights, again?), no dinners planned for the week (will be scrambling for dinner ideas. Again), house is a war zone (can't see the kitchen counter. Again). 

And again, and again. Everyday, I give up just a little. Here and there. Until one day, those little give-ups built up to one big disaster.  How did my mom do it, I wonder, have the house clean, the dinner cooked, the laundry done (AND ironed, not just folded, underwear included). 

So many times I feel like I would need the energy of the universe to allow me to complete the tasks I set for myself each day. And for crying out loud, these are simple tasks. It's not like I'm Angelina Jolie: 

08:00 am - teleconference with the World Health Organization 

09:15 am - take a shower

10:00 am - adopt a child from Kenya

11:00 pm - hop on a plane to Syria

12:15 pm - give a talk to United Nations

05:00 pm - cook a fully organic dinner for my 17 children. From scratch.

Saving the world and looking fabulous. That's not me. I just want to have a nice day, where I get to take a shower, and maybe even shave. Feed the kids a good dinner, with salad, and have a meaningful conversation besides "stop picking your nose". 

Most days, I'm ok. I get to have at least one or two moments of pure joy with my kids. Simple things are awesome. Oh, you learned to spell three letter words! THAT IS AWESOME! 

And that's perfectly alright. On most days, I have a system in place which I follow, and that keeps be sane.  

But there are some days, dark days, where Dementors lurk at every corner, shadows swallow me whole, and the world is a bleak, purposeless place. On those days, I unbraid all the threads of my "system", watch my self-esteem plummet, question the purpose of my existence, and generally feel like a stinking turd. 

On those days I loose my cool. I bathe myself in self loathing and self pity.  I become guarded and on the defensive. I hurt. I yell. My kids see me withdraw into myself and that makes me feel even worse. 

How to remedy those days? Is this normal, to feel like this? Am I dramatizing? Am I spoiled? Do I have too much time on my hands and thus over analyze? Am I depressed? Why do I hurt?

Those same things that I cherish, I resent: children, a house in the suburbs, maternity leave.  

"No freedom!", my self conscious says to me. "Children killed your freedom!". 

"A house in the suburbs is the death of social scene. Nothing happens in the suburbs except Saturday garage sales."

"Maternity leave is killing your career. Good work, dear, trading the office for changing diapers, trading the board meeting for Mother Goose class at the local community centre.  Your brain is turning into mush."

The constant internal negative monologue is exhausting. It leaves me gasping for air. On those dark days, I roll into bed at the end of the day, completely devoid of any positive feelings. I've got no hope for tomorrow. 

It took me some time to realize that I feel like this, and that feeling like this is cyclical. Maybe even hormonal, I can't be sure, but I will speak to my doctor about it. And it took me some time to come up with a system that helps me get back to normal, to come back to balance. 

For starters, I recognize that it's fine to not live up to my expectations.  Really, it's fine. In the grand scheme of things, a week's worth of take out dinners, or wrinkled laundry is not a big deal; it's but a drop in the ocean. 

Then I let myself think of all the good things I've recently done.  Like having a good conversation about feelings with my kid. Or watching my older daughter play with and shower my younger one with pure love.  She learned that from someone.  

Then I try to rein back my negativity and stop feeling like a small, insignificant grain of sand; I try to regain my perspective.  "You are in a waiting room of sorts", I tell myself, "it's a place where you won't end up, but you're momentarily passing through".  That often helps with feelings of resignation, and doom.  This too, shall pass, I tell myself.

Lastly, I give myself a break by doing something fun. Today, I made flower centrepieces in anticipation of spring. Because I'm awesome like that. And I shared a bottle of Chianti with my hubby. Cause he's awesome too.

I forgive myself. And I move on. Again, and again.