Patting myself on the back

Too frequently women do their best work at cutting themselves down.

Many an evening my hardworking and exhausted husband has come home to a wife practically in tears because I'm just not "enough" something. Mostly it's over some "problem" that's truly silly and petty compared to the "problems in Darfur" type of problems that really should put things in perspective.

But, seriously, I'm living this moment right here, right now and it all seems overwhelming sometimes. And sometimes, when my pictures don't turn out good enough, or the house is just not nice and neat and clean and decorated enough, or my hair doesn't look cute enough, or I'm not parenting well enough, or my blog posts aren't good enough. . .I just get really down on myself.

You see, I've always had issues with self-confidence. Which is funny, because I've always been very blessed and successful and fortunate and "a winner" for the most part. Seriously, I never really dealt with any kind of disappointment until I was in my twenties!!! And the latter part of the 20s, at that!

So part of it is personality; part insecurity; part exhaustion; part emotion. Partly I just don't feel good about myself and what I'm doing most of the time.

(Tiny violin playing "My heart bleeds for you.")

No, I don't want your pity. And I'm not fishing for compliments.

I'm just posting a real post about my real feelings--not all the "ha ha life is wonderful all the time la la la" stuff I normally post. Which is honest, too, because I really do feel like my life is an absolute blessing and a gift and it's GREAT every day.

Except for when I don't feel that way.

And not that I'm feeling all down and out right now. It's just something I needed to post about.

Because today I want to pat myself on the back.

You see, yesterday I woke up and was brutally exhausted. Not so much because the kid was up all night. (It's no secret he's not a sleeper). Actually, he has been doing okay. I just have not been able to sleep lately. Every night my mind is bombarded with this unexpected anxiety and stress and worry. Over what? I have no freakin' clue.

Maybe it's because I admitted to trying to feed my kid hot dogs at playgroup the day before.

Or because he's not taking his full nap, and I'm run down from him being wound up.

Maybe I'm still a little panicked over him getting his MMR vaccination, and I'm terrified that he's going to wake up with autism in the morning and I'll lose my little boy.

Who knows. Bottom line: no sleepy sleepy.

And I was planning to run four miles yesterday morning.

When we rolled out of bed, I thought: "No freakin' way I'm running 20 steps this morning. I feel awful!"

But I got the coffee going, got some food down the kid, pulled on my running clothes, and before we know it, we're out the door and pounding the pavement.

And I killed that run.

It was awesome.

No, we weren't flying at some great pace (although we did manage our negative splits). But we weren't plodding. And it didn't feel awful.

It felt great. Even at a 10:40 pace I felt like I was flying.

All the stress was gone. All the worry. All the not being enough.

It was just me. And the kid. And the road.

And it was great.

I dug deep to get going on that run, and it was worth it.

So I'm patting myself on the back.

Way to go, me.

I just need a little encouragement from my worst critic today.

Yay, Sabrina, you rock.

Just try to remember that the next time you get yourself down. . .

So here's your treat for reading this whole rant: My best little cleaner wearing the cutest outfit ever. He does windows. Cheap.