I feel guilty that I don’t always have dinner waiting or the house spotless when my husband comes home from work.
I remind myself that just because I work from home doesn’t mean that I have free time. I still am chained to my home office desk for a full 8 hours a day. As soon as I’m off, I go and pick up the kids. I’m not “home” to do these things anymore than he is. Yes, when he gets home, he cooks. Yes, I clean, but admittedly can’t get much of a dent done until the weekend.
I feel guilty that I haven’t yet gone back to school; that I have gone to school and now have all this debt, all to be working at a place that doesn’t really utilize any of my skills. I remind myself that it’s a job that grants me the flexibility that I need while my kids are young and that allows us all to travel, one of my top pleasures in life, to a degree that we could never attain if I worked anywhere else.
I feel guilty that I snapped at my kids yesterday and that honestly, on some days I feel like they get on my last nerve. There are many people who would love to have kids who don’t have them. I remind myself that if said people did have kids, there would be times they yelled at them too. I still have bad days. And I have kids who love me anyway.
I feel guilty that sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere, my depression and fatigue are so crippling I can barely face the day. There are people who are really sick, terminal even, that can still face the day with a smile. I remind myself that if ever there was a case that proved just how debilitating this can be, it’s my experience.
I remind myself, I remind myself, I remind myself. All the time.