If I went to a therapist...

What would I say?

Sometimes I have conversations in my head -- monologues, actually, as though I'm talking about my life to a therapist. And I wonder, would it do me any good to actually see one? Not that I'm asking because I've never been. I have. Last year around this time I called our insurance for a referral at the insistence of my beloved because I NEEDED HELP. I was freaking out. I was sad. I was overwhelmed. I was feeling like a failure.

That's what it basically comes down to. That's why I let my temper go when I do. If I could be rational about it in the moment, my anger almost always comes down to feeling like I've failed somehow.

I'm not being the wife or mother I want to be. I'm failing at my immediate goals, and therefore at my larger goal. I've set the bar where I think it needs to be, and now the person I'm aiming to please has somehow let me know that it's not working. Last night was a typical example. I was making dinner, but apparently not fast enough. The kids were whining from hunger, and Scott was looking at the clock and hovering, wondering if we'd be done with dinner in time to take our oldest to kung fu. And I snapped. I snap, and then I pass the blame. Because it hurts too much to be the one failing. It must be someone else's fault.

Or this morning. I wanted to get outside and work in the garden before it got too hot. But I'd woken up late, again, still wasn't feeling well, and the boys wanted me to PLAY with them outside, not just do my own thing. The whining. I HATE the whining. I hear whining and I think, "For heaven's sake! You have more toys than a city's worth of kids in Africa! You have TWO brothers to play with! You don't have to spend six hours every day at school or with me hovering over you making you do schoolwork! You just got to spend three days playing with friends, swimming, and going to an aquarium! You have a trampoline, a swingset, and chickens to play with! Could you just let me WEED for TWENTY MINUTES!?"

Those things are all true. But where does the frustration and anger really come from? It comes from a quiet, but insistant internal voice that questions the decisions I've made. That doubts that I really know what I'm doing as a parent. That wonders, "Maybe you've given them TOO much. Maybe you're expecting too much FROM THEM. Maybe you haven't given them what they REALLY need. Maybe you're just too selfish and independent to homeschool. Maybe you don't really get unschooling, and you're just using it as an excuse to do your own thing."

And a louder voice insists, "You deserve time to yourself. You have things you need to get done! They're just spoiled and need to get a grip." This is the Attitude that too often takes over my mouth.

Either way, I've failed. I haven't managed my time well enough. I haven't kept my immune system strong enough to have the strength and energy I need. I'm not being the mother I want to be. And it pisses me off.

Then the voice of reason, a still small Voice whom I like to call God, says, "You're tired. You have a cold. You're trying to do too much. The boys don't feel well either and don't want to be out in the heat. It's okay to go inside and leave the weeds for another day. The important thing is that you show them you love them."

I've still failed. I've still fallen short of the glory of God. But somehow, it's going to be okay. If I listen to His voice.

Duh. He's not expecting me to be perfect right now. I'm here to keep learning. He just wants me to follow Him and stop trying to do and be everything on my own. Only His standard counts.

I think I don't go to therapy because I'm not sure what voice I would hear there. If it's not His, then I don't want to hear it.

My Faith has been challenged a lot in the last couple years. It's been hard to hear His voice sometimes. I'm ready to quiet the monologue and listen carefully for a while.