I often worry. No surprise there to anyone who knows me. I worry about all sorts of things, as all people do. I fall into the category of people, though, who worry too much. Way too much. I know this about myself. I try to deal with it.
I know that parents always worry how well a job they are doing raising their children. They worry if they are screwing their kids up somehow. After all, parents have pretty vivid images of how their own parents raised them and it most definitely affects the kind of parent that they want to be. But, often, there is a huge gap between the parent you want to be and the parent you actually are. And that is, of course, because no two people are ever exactly the same; no two children, no two adults, no two families. That whole “Life is a box of chocolates” thing. The wishing that kids came with individual instruction manuals thing. Hell, the wish that you had come with an instruction manual!
This piece touched me just now because I often worry as well. I think my husband does too. I wonder how my children are going to remember me, my husband, us. I wonder how our depression will affect them; has affected them. Because it’s certainly affected everything that he and I have done and do. (Damn you, Depression!!)
I’m curious and anxious about what things look like to them, how things feel to them. Very anxious. Very worried.
Anyway, I enjoyed this piece by Lisa Lim about how things seemed to her.
My Mother Would Walk Miles Upon Miles
By Lisa Lim on Mutha Magazine
“I’d ask, “Mommy, why don’t you have any wrinkles?” “Because I don’t think that hard about things,” she’d answer.” Memories of a mother — and her struggles with homelessness, depression, and varicose veins — in comic form.