Who I Need to Be

This morning, my 3-year-old cried and cried because she wanted Daddy. She needed him to get her out of bed, help her get dressed, put medicine on her infected toe, get her breakfast, give her hugs. But he wasn’t here. He was at work. Not getting paid, courtesy of the government.

The fact that I got her dressed, only made her cry harder. And when I went downstairs, she removed every piece of clothing and came to tell me that she didn’t want to wear those clothes. Ok. Go get different clothes. No, she couldn’t do that. She needed Daddy to help her get new clothes. So she sat on the hardwood floor in her birthday suit, crying over the fact that she wanted Daddy and that it was takin’ too long for him to come home.

I sympathize. I really do. It does take too long for him to come home. She gets to see him for about an hour each day during the week. It’s not enough. And in the meantime, she’s stuck with me.

Regular, unspectacular me.

And I’ve been even less than unspectacular lately.

Have you ever felt like you’re failing in every aspect of your life? Well, that’s me at the moment. 

The difference between who I am and who I need to be is enormous.

And I don’t know how to bridge the gap. It seems that no matter which way I turn, I am faced with the evidence that I am not enough. Not patient enough. Not forgiving enough. Not consistent enough. Not loving enough. Not spiritual enough. Not diplomatic enough.

I feel like every angry scream from my son will send a crack running through the foundation of our life. I have failed him because I haven’t been able to “fix” him. And because the stresses of our current life seem to be making things worse. He hates going to church. And it makes me wilt inside because I know that it stems from the fact that I can’t give him the attention he needs there. That I am too distracted by my other responsibilities to really hear the worries behind his outbursts. I see his future laid out before me, and it makes my heart feel black with sorrow.

The meltdowns from my 6-year-old have escalated into battles of will. She digs in her heals over the most insignificant details. And when she also fights against getting ready for church, it breaks my heart. Because I believe her reluctance is due to the fact that half of all Sunday mornings, I am not here to help her get ready. She needs the consistency my presence brings. But I have meetings, and there is no one who can fill in for me. How do I choose between these responsibilities?

When I find myself totally and completely annoyed by my 3-year-old, I know that I should look past it. That I should be able to find joy in being with her. Most of the time, I can. But not always. Sometimes I want nothing more than a time-out from being her mother. Which is selfish and not very motherly. I love my children. I love being their mother. But sometimes the miserable stuff crowds out the rest of it and I struggle.

I miss the friendship of my husband, the time we used to have to nurture that friendship. It seems that our life mostly consists of tackling one challenge after another, with hardly a breath in between and not much chance to really resolve some of them.

There are aspects that I love about serving in the youth group at church. The girls are awesome. I love being in there with my oldest daughter. It’s fun. More fun than being at home sometimes. Which makes me wary because I know I shouldn’t use it as an escape. Ironically, though, this is the loneliest calling I’ve ever had. Not because of the girls, but because of the weight of making sure every aspect of the program is running as it should. Which it isn’t. And I struggle with how to get everything on track without demanding more than my family (or my counselors) can give as they try to support me.

I know that I shouldn’t talk about this stuff. That it violates the unwritten laws that govern casual social interaction. But I’m hoping to experience a little catharsis. Because every time I find myself alone with my thoughts, I feel the tears welling up in the corner of my eyes and I want to go curl up in a corner.

It’s all too much. I don’t know how to be who I need to be.

And then I remember a passage in the Book of Mormon which reads, “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.”

And I’m reminded that I am not in this alone, even when it feels that way. That my challenges were given to me, and there must be a way that I can overcome them. Because no one can do it for me. I have to believe that the balancing act of running a youth program and running a family won’t bring both crashing down around me. I have to hope that one of these days, my husband and I will find a way to reconnect. And I can’t give up on the dream that someday I might find someone who can help me bear the burden of my anxious child.

I know that I will probably feel better tomorrow. I know that these thoughts will fade as others take precedence. I even know that hard things are good for me, that someday I will look back on this time and be able to see the lessons I learned, the ways I grew.

But until then, I suppose I just need to keep trying. It may not be enough, but it’s something.