Cutting Cables

There is no escape from the human condition, except death. I'm beginning to believe that there is no escape from the condition of self-doubt, except by the same remedy.

I'm bound to my life by strands and cables of responsibility, each composed of filaments of guilt and self-loathing, and accompanied by that pit in my stomach that gurgles, "You should do a better job."

Each night in bed, I have a ritual of visualizing each cable and mentally cutting them to release the tension. I'll say, "There are still dishes, but I don't have to do any more of them until tomorrow. Cut."
"Ptolemy didn't practice violin, but today is over. It's too late. Cut."
"I never called the doctor. Cut."
"Still haven't found a piece to play at Golda's farewell. Cut."
"I forgot all about merit badge class. I'm the worst. I'm cutting that cable, though, because I can't repair it."

Somehow, the next day, all those cables have repaired *themselves*, like the hydra that grew two heads for every one that was cut off.  Thus, at any given time, from the moment I wake up until I fall asleep mentally cutting cables, I can name a dozen things that I feel bad about. My weight. My outfit. My hair. Not being nicer. Not being stricter. Not paying more attention to everyone. The house. Always the house. There isn't one second of my life that I don't feel the tension of the "housekeeping" cable, pulling me down, weighing on me because the house isn't clean.

Every time I get the kitchen clean again, a cable in my mind reverberates with, "But the basement is still a mess, and your closet is a disgrace, Fatso. I can't believe you never exercise. And by the way, are you ever planning on folding the laundry?"

Those cables are heavy, tight, and plentiful. They multiply, those Hydra heads, until I really feel like I'm a terrible person. I mean, I can't even sweep out the garage. I'll never be good enough. I'll never remember everything. I'll never even have shoes on all the kids at the same time. That's how awful I am.

And then comes the silver gilding on the cables: the idea that everyone else can manage just fine. Other people have clean garages. Other people's kids have shoes, and other moms organize their closets with the greatest of ease. Scott could do all of this, if he wasn't busy being a superstar at work while I spin my wheels, never getting ahead. You wouldn't even believe the lengths I went to last week to get my shampoo and conditioner to stay in the same place. And I failed.

I know, I know, I'm raising 7 kids, there's a lot going on, I'm doing the best I can, blah blah blah. But what I'd really love is to be able to use those cables to build something structurally sound and useful. I just don't know how. I'll add it to my list of things that I'm not good at.