Confession II, or Don't Interupt Me, I'm Busy Surviving
I still don't like living with my daughter, but at least it's somewhat calm these days. I have a nasty spring cold so I can't do much yelling.
In my childhood home growing up didn't really happen. You were too busy surviving. You couldn't be a teenager much less a teenager with angst. I didn't learn any parenting skills from my parents; they didn't have any. I am having to learn from scratch, from my daughter's therapist. Note to self: send her name to the new Pope as a nominee for sainthood.
Tonight was awful. Despite all my good intentions I yelled at her yet again. I told her I lived with a pig. REALLY helpful. I am so ill equipped to be a parent and I get to a point where I can't stand it or her or the overwhelming responsibilities, or something. I am not excusing myself. I can do a lot better. Who's the child in our house, me or her?
Some days I just want someone else to take over and do everything for me. It's really difficult for me to stop and breathe when there is so much riding on my shoulders (including my perfectionist Mom).
I want so much to give up that backpack of stones. I don't want my daughter to turn away from me like I did with my mother.