My oldest companion

She’s patient. She can  lie dormant for days, weeks, even months on end, waiting for the perfect storm to pounce. No. She doesn’t pounce. Never pounces. She’s much too subtle for something as crude as pouncing. She is insidious. She slips unnoticed into the center of my psyche, tweaking this outlook and twisting that thought until my emotions are dark and tangled. She is my oldest companion, this quiet voice that told my pre-school self that she wasn’t good enough to play with the other kids and convinced my kindergarten self that she would be rejected because she couldn’t tie a shoe yet. She has been a constant presence for as long as I can remember, cultivating the belief that I’m irresponsible and flaky and lazy, unworthy of love or friendship, a failure, incapable of completing anything of significance or doing anything of significance, clumsy and stupid, only shown kindness out of pity…

Lies that are slowly being exposed and uprooted, left to wither and die. But they’re tenacious little weeds.

I left work both Monday and Tuesday in tears. I cried in the  car on the way home. I might have even beat the steering wheel but by the time I was with my family, I was able to leave work behind. (Mostly. I did vent some) (And Tuesday I got to leave early so the decompression took significantly less time) Today was no better and then I realized I have dropped the ball on a fairly  large personal issue. Something I thought was covered for now wasn’t. Something I should have addressed and didn’t.  And my irresponsibility could quite possibly cost us. We won’t LOSE anything. But we might not be able to do what we wanted. What my husband wanted. My husband that goes out of his way to fill my life with extravagance and love and luxury and is now going to be punished because of my…stupidity.

I was nauseous all afternoon. And when he walked in tonight and asked an innocent question, I misheard and snapped. I yelled at the one person I wanted the most to make happy. And then I lost it and sobbed all the way through serving dinner plates. (Yet the rice STILL needed more salt. I can NOT cook rice).

It’s a perfect storm – stress and guilt – and it’s hard to reject that familiar voice with her slippery half truths, whispering my deficiencies and unworthiness until I’m sick. I know I don’t have to dismiss her alone but even prayer seems empty tonight. I’m clinging to faith that God is still there. He hasn’t changed. And He knew what he was doing when He created me, and when He put my husband in my path. I’m clinging to that.

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