Indulge me for a moment while I travel back to the 1970s.

Do you remember the TV show The Jeffersons?  George was constantly teasing the single maid, Florence, about her lack of cleaning and cooking skills.  Florence always came back with some brillant quip.  It was comedic timing at its best.  There was one episode, though, when George teased Florence about not being able to find a husband.  And Florence started to cry.  George was dumbfounded and asked why she would cry when he teased her all the time.  She told him that it didn’t bother her when he teased her about cooking and cleaning; she was confident in those abilities.  However, the teasing about finding a mate cut just a little too close, because it just might be the truth.

Okay, back to the 21st century.

I tell you this because I think we all have an Achilles Heel of emotions about something.  I have two.  One is my photography skills; my skin is about as thin as rice paper on that topic.  (And right now, that rice paper has some serious tears in it, but that’s not what this is about, because in the grand scheme of things, my photography skills matter less than what color socks I wore last month.)

The second thing I struggle constantly with is thinking that I am a failure as a mother.  On good days, I’m able to see the forest through the trees and realize that even though each day I fail at something with the girls, overall they are happy and well-adjusted.  But on bad days, really bad days, I want to collapse into a puddle of tears on the floor.  And yesterday was a really, really, really bad day.

Abigail has been struggling with preschool.  She goes to school an hour after Gracie does.  Yesterday, after we dropped Gracie at school, Abigail started crying, pleading with me not to take her, begging to stay home with me.  I packed her lunch; she unpacked her lunch.  I put her shoes on; she took them off.  She locked the front door with tears streaming down her face.  I had a photo session yesterday morning or I probably would have let her just stay home.  Now, let me tell you about Abigail.  This is her third year at preschool.  She was cried twice in three years about going to school.  For the last three weeks, she’s cried every day that she has school.

I’m at my wit’s end.  I don’t know what to do.  So, I asked for advice.  And the advice I got was pointed and sharp.  “Abigail’s personality has changed.  You might need to take her to the doctor.  She might be depressed.  She’s probably craving more quality time with you.  You need to be arranging more playdates for her with children her own age.  She’s jealous of the attention that other children are getting in the classroom”  That’s what was said.  (And yes, this whole paragraph is in passive voice…I know that…I know I’ve left out who I asked for advice and who said what.  I don’t think the who is important; although, I will tell you the person who said all of it is neither Abigail’s teacher nor the director of the preschool but it was someone whose opinion I respect.) What I heard was “You suck as a mother and the only reason Abigail is upset is because you do everything wrong.”  Rationally, I know that’s not what was said; rationally, I know (or at least hope) that this person wasn’t intentionally trying to make me feel bad.  Rationally, I know all that.  Emotionally, however, I am crushed.

I spent a solid two hours crying yesterday and tears have threatened on more than one occasion this morning.

Right now, I want to scoop my sweet baby girl (and my big girl, too, for good measure) up in my arms and run far, far, away to a place where I know no one and they know no one and keep the girls close to me and heal my bruised spirit.  My reaction to hurt has always been to want to hide and escape.  I want to hold Abigail and tell her that I love her more than I can even express.  I want to watch her every move and make sure that she’s not exhibiting any symptoms of depression (which, if I’m honest, think is complete hogwash…my child is not depressed).  More than anything though, I want to not fail her.  And today, that’s what I feel like I’ve done.  I’ve failed her on an epic level.  I’m scared that what I thought yesterday was just an issue with her going to school is something more systemic, that the person who so casually tossed out reasons for her sadness is right. And that it’s all my fault.

But, let’s be honest…I can’t exactly run away.  My life is here; the girls’ life is here.  And my husband, who I adore, is here.  (Why he doesn’t factor into my scooping up and running away scenario, I don’t know.  Except he wouldn’t exactly be easy to scoop up and run with ).  And, much as I’d like to, I can’t isolate myself from the outside world either.  I know that’s not good for anyone.  I know what I have to do is pick myself up and figure out on my own what’s happening inside Abigail’s head.  I’ll try harder to be the mother (and the person) I want to be.  A person whose skin isn’t quite so thin.  A mother whose confident enough in her abilities to not care what other people think. And, I don’t think I’ll be asking for any advice any time soon.  Because, advice, sometimes, can be a bitter storm raining down on your soul.