I readily admit that I’m my own worst critic.  Mistakes I forgive easily in others weigh me down for days on end until I finally beat myself about the head, forcing the voice in there to shut up, already and leave me alone.

Why is that voice so dang loud, anyway?

I hate that I can be so hard on myself, but it’s also a difficult character trait to argue with.  Yes, I understand it’s kind of senseless to beat myself up for silly mistakes, but the same drive that demands perfection (and yells at me when I fall short) is also what forces me to do my best.  My studies, my writing, my sports (well, okay, just the one), my work on the education committee at church, and my time at the kids’ school…all of those things benefit from my motivation to succeed.

If I want to do my best, and so many of these things depend on me doing my best, how can I argue that I shouldn’t be hard on myself?

Intellectually I grasp that there’s a difference between pushing myself to put my best foot forward and berating myself for, say, sending my kid to an Eagle Scout ceremony in athletic shorts and a t-shirt. (True story.  In my defense, I’ve never been a boy scout or attended an Eagle Scout ceremony, but still…it bothered me for days.)  I’m only human and people make mistakes.  But even though my head knows that, the rest of me fusses and nags until I’m adrift in the negativity.

So why am I this way?  Nobody enjoys hearing Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! echo through their brain.

My best guess is history.  A very long pattern of behavior that I just can’t seem to break. And one that I worry I may be passing along to my son.

We had a telling run-in with T-man this week.  It was pretty typical stuff — we’d told him not to do something several times, he did it again, and when we called him on it we got the run-around. Instead of simply admitting that he’d made a mistake he kept justifying his actions, as in: “Have we told you not to do this?”  “Yes, BUT…”  He went back and forth with BrightSide until they both reached their limit and T-man went to bed.

I had a heart-to-heart with him in his room that night and learned a lot about how he perceives disagreements.  Personally, I think I exhibited an extraordinary amount of self-control by containing my giggles when he complained, “But he started it!”    Ummm….what?  Have you forgotten that I was actually in the room?  And that your dad’s not ten?!  I also managed to keep it in check when T-man temporarily lost his mind and accused BrightSide of thinking he’s “king of the castle!”  At the risk of bursting your bubble, HE IS.  Yes, yes, so am I.  But you know who definitely isn’t?  YOU.  Seriously, it was like entering an alternate universe.

(Please, SOMEBODY tell me that this is some kind of temporary egocentric, the-world-revolves-around-me, tween perspective.  I cringe to think I might send this attitude out into society when he leaves home.)

So anyway, when I finally staggered back into the family room to fold the three freaking baskets of laundry still waiting on me, BrightSide and I tried to figure out exactly how our evening had gone completely to hell.

T-man comes off as belligerent and obtuse at times, but I had a theory as to why he and BS were banging heads over this particular issue.  I think it’s just really hard for T-man to admit that he’s wrong.  Even though I couldn’t get him to come around and actually say that, when we talked about what had happened earlier that evening I was feeling some serious deja vu.  As in gee, this sounds exactly like me when I don’t want to admit I made a mistake.

When I told BrightSide my theory he looked at me for a moment, a bit confused, then asked what was wrong with making a mistake.  And I looked at him confused as I explained that making a mistake means failure.  Okay, yes, I realize my own childhood issues are rearing their ugly head here but still…it’s a reaction to screwing up that comes from the depths of my being.  I’m working on it.

I’d like to point out here that I am 100% on board with changing this mindset for my own children. I can preach like a pro when it comes to “everybody makes mistakes” and “mistakes are how we learn and grow.”  I calmly reassure the kids when they mess up — dropping yogurt on the carpet or knocking over the milk carton results in a levelheaded “well, I guess you should grab the sponge” with nary a huff to be heard.

So I’m trying to model that calm, collected response to blunders.  I do pretty well in my conscious efforts at being chill.  It’s in the unscripted moments when I slip up.

Like the time we were running late (again) and I’d forgotten T-man’s Tae Kwon Do uniform shirt, which was particularly ridiculous considering getting a patch sewn on it was the whole reason we were trying to leave the house early.  Anyway, it hits me that I’ve forgotten the damn thing on the kitchen counter so I slam on the brakes, flip the car around, and head back to the house saying how stupid I was to forget the dumb shirt.  And then I hear, “You’re not stupid, mom” from T-man in the backseat. Oops.

It definitely looks like I’ve got more work to do on myself.  Not just so I can get the Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! soundtrack out of my head…even more important, there’s no way I want to pass this kind of critical internal voice on to my kids.