*sigh*

Someday I won’t be caught out by either:

1) an honest mistake, or
2) something that wasn’t under my control,

and feel as if I’m going to be called to task, blamed, and yelled at for it.

Someday I won’t explain why something happened without bracing myself for the accusation of trying to make excuses or being pantsed by a little voice in my head that is telling me I’m a liar and it really is my fault and I’m just trying to make excuses and get out of it.

This pretty much never happened in my house. Maybe once in a blue moon if someone was unusually exasperated, but on the whole my parents were pretty patient. I know where this came from. School — six years of my first elementary school, and graduate school, and one particular really horrible job where all that was reliable was the screaming.

I hate posts that get into goddamned navel-gazing psychological bullshit, but I’m closer to 50 than 40, and this particular burden is becoming very, very exhausting. I’m getting grey hair and I’m still getting acid-stomached, clammy, and knocked off the rails by low-level panic over things like this. I’m right fucking sick of it.

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