Getting a Grip

There are times when writing happy thoughts really helps me to remember what’s important, set the reset button in my mind, see that things aren’t bad really. Then there are times when I really  need to write things out and see what is going on in my head in a linear fashion, instead of the concurrent circles twenty thought trains are tracing out.

Today, things aren’t bad. Really. Except that I have this horrible guilty feeling that’s sprung out of nowhere. I feel like I’ve done something awful and it’s just a matter of time before someone finds out. I haven’t done anything awful. Or even slightly bad. So where is this coming from?

I think I know.  The day didn’t get off to a fabulous start. It was okay at first, Cameron was sleepy and clearly not feeling great, but he was okay … until we got within sight of daycare. Cameron started sobbing and howling. He clung to me at daycare, begging me to not go. He hasn’t done that in so long that I was crying as I closed the door behind me when I left. I feel guilty and horrible, my little boy is still sick and just wanted to stay home with Mommy and I couldn’t.

I can justify it, of course. He wasn’t that sick. No fever (a low one did come and go throughout the day, and he’s got it again now), and ‘morning coughing’, the kind that goes away. I only get so many sick days, and this is just illness #2 of the season. But justifying it like that doesn’t change that he was miserable all day because of a choice  I made.

But this triggered my guilt and anxiety reaction, which was exacerbated by being sick myself, and tired. I worked hard today, I accomplished a lot. I hassled a sales rep into sending me a quote I should’ve been sent a week ago, and sent that along with another off to my boss with my recommendations. He naturally responded that he’d like to meet to discuss the purchase. My internal reaction? Oh, no, I did something wrooooong. Despite my own good sense telling me that this gut reaction is completely misplaced, I am dreading this meeting. This meeting that is 99.9% guaranteed to be nothing more than my boss a) appropriately involving me in a decision and b) recognizing that I know what I’m doing and maybe a verbal discussion would be better than email.

I also started going through some accounts that need to be settled – people owe ‘us’ money. Oops. The lab I do the financial stuff for owes ‘us’ money, and I should’ve taken care of that a couple months ago. Oh, the horrors, this is awful, the PI is gonna look at this coming off his grant and freak, ohno he might not have budgeted for this having not seen it on last month’s ledger … GET A FREAKING GRIP GIRL. Yes, it’s a lot of money. It’s equivalent to a couple months’ of my pay. But you know what? The PI knew how expensive these things were, and each was cleared with him, so really, if he didn’t budget for this it isn’t my responsibility. Yep, I messed up a little. But it’s time to get that reaction under control and into realistic proportions.

Phew. There. That helped. As I’ve mentioned before sometimes I need to write things out so they are easier to ‘see’.

The only thing I can reasonably feel anxiety about here is  knowing that Cameron really wants nothing more than to be with me, especially when he is ill, and yet I have to go to work. It’s okay, it’s nothing to feel guilty about, but I still do feel badly that something I am doing makes him so upset.

Advertisements

One response to “Getting a Grip

  1. the crappy part of motherhood is the guilt. He won’t remember this in a few days. You’re a great mom and you have to work to provide food, shelter etc. Maybe extra cuddles at night will help?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s