The latest from Duh! magazine: I'm too hard on myself

Remember yesterday when I was all chipper about how great my running was going, and how positive I felt about my body? Well, all it takes is one humiliatingly bad running experience to shoot all that to hell.

Yesterday I took Nathan to the zoo all day. And then we drove home because he had swimming lessons, and on the ride home I had a sort of miniature panic attack. I think that must of used up all my mental energy, because by the time I got to running class (after swim lessons), I just didn't have it in me to run the 20 minutes, despite having done it the day before. I was very discouraged about the other two class participants being much, much faster than I was, and that includes this 50-something woman who was previously slower than I. And thinking about running 20 minutes, mostly uphill it seemed, was just too much to handle psychologically. (Yes, this teacher has managed to find the neighborhood that everybody's parents lived in during their childhoods, wherein it was uphill both ways on their walks to/from school.) So I just stopped and walked.

Now, rather than just being all, "Hmm, this isn't my day," I had to turn this into a huge production. I didn't want to stretch after, or chat with the other participants. I didn't want to wait around for my stupid weekly reading material to be handed out. I didn't even want to take a shower. I wasn't sure how I would get Nathan fed and ready for bed. I just wanted to sit around and pout. I am such a pathetic, useless person, I thought. It's not like I have a job or three kids or anything that should be sucking away so much energy and time that I can't run 20 minutes.

And then, the endpoint that every single pity party seems to lead to: I'm fat.

Now, here's the thing. I think if I were a more positive person, I would have been able to focus on the fact that I had just spent the day taking my child to a fun, enriching activity (the zoo), followed by another important athletic/life-skill class (swimming). And maybe that was why I was tired when it came time to run. I could think about how awesome I am for going home and feeding him dinner and getting him into bed all by himself because my husband was working late again. In short, I could focus on all the things that were going right, rather than the few things that were going wrong.

But even as I type this, I am dissecting the days' events further in my mind, again with a slant toward beating myself up. Sure, I took him to the zoo, but rather than being a good mom who packed a lunch from home, I let us both eat greasy, expensive food bought at the zoo. And I bought him a toy at the end, which means I spoil him. And for dinner I let him eat a hot dog bun without the hot dog, and then when he wouldn't go to sleep I caved in and let him sleep in my bed. And after that I ate handfuls of chocolate chips and drank sangria because that's what I do when I feel sorry for myself, and that's why I'm Fat.

Topping the list of self-inflicted insults, along with I'm Fat, is I'm a pathetic waste of space who only has one kid and no job. I don't know why, but in life I always feel like I'm competing for some kind of Human of the Year Award, and the chief criterion on which this award is judged is how busy and frazzled you are. So I think, geez, I have no right to be stressed out, because I don't have three kids like So-and-So. And Such-and-Such has a full-time job and runs her own business on the side, so she is clearly better than I am.

Better than I am. On what scale? Why do I have it in my mind that if I'm not giving of myself to the point that there's nothing left, then I'm an inadequate person? Or that if I am an inadequate person, the least I could do is be truly awesome at the few things I do have going on, and I'm failing at that, too? Like if I do just have the one kid and no job, I should make sure that I have a homemade, healthy meal on the table every night. And being nutritionally balanced isn't enough, it also has to be organic and locally-grown. Why stop there? Maybe I should be growing the food myself. And oh, I have to be economical about it. No buying pre-grated cheese, because for crying out loud woman, you have no job and you should have time to whip out the box grater.

Do you see where I'm going here? If you set out to beat yourself up, you will always find a reason. You will never be satisfied. And you know what? I'm the only one who cares about all my inadequacies. Do you really think it matters to anybody else that I only have one kid and no job? Let alone that I don't feed my child organic food? To assume that people even have the time and energy to sit around worrying about what I do with my life is to think way too highly of myself. Which is probably the first time I've ever done that.

No, the only person who needs to lighten up on me is me. So I'm going to end this post by boosting my self-esteem a little. And this is what I want to say.

My name is Shannon. I am lucky to have a son, Nathan, who is healthy and smart. I take him somewhere or do something with him every single day that is enriching to his mind and body. I make sure he eats fruit. I do not have a job outside my home at the moment, but I have supported and sacrificed so my husband could excel in a competitive field that is truly fulfilling for him, and I think his success is my success. I like my marriage because we laugh a lot and have lives that are together but also separate.

I like to think I do things to help out others. Occasionally this comes in the form of actual charity work, but also I will not hesitate to babysit for my friends or bake them pies.

My house is mostly clean. I'm on top of the laundry. I go to the gym about 5 times a week. I read about one book a week. And I'm a good writer, dammit. Plus I have a natural sense of what looks pretty and balanced in flower arrangements. I am proficient with a Crock Pot.

I overcame depression. I have good relationships with my extended family. I won't forget your birthday.

I am grateful to have thick hair and thin fingers. And a sense of humor.

In sum, the previous few paragraphs were not designed to sound conceited or sanctimonious, but rather to slightly boost the ego of a person with very tenuous mental health.