Skip to main content

Failure Mirror

J's short visit home was mixed as these things always are for me. Expectations are never met on either side I think. We fall a bit short of what the other might have hoped for and yet there is comfort even within that flawed space. Like sunlight peeking through clouds and then sometimes the sky turning brilliant blue.  We both wait for the flash of dazzling blue. Those moments always happen and I do remember them fondly for a long time. Yet, in everything that falls short in some way, I feel myself witnessing the failures of my motherhood. 

Things that I should have tried harder on, not given up because I ran out of steam and found myself yielding to the stubbornness of a child who was adept at pushing my buttons tenaciously. If only I had been smarter and known to strike the right balance between not breaking her spirit and holding my ground where it mattered most. That time has long gone, the die is cast. I wish there was a different way for me to see what is in front of me instead of feeling crushed by the sense of failure brought upon by the endless misses and missteps. I wish I could also see the things I have done well even if not with the same blinding clarity. 

Like my friend C says, I have yet to learn how to be kind to myself and forgive myself. Each time I see my kid, I realize how far away I am from that. This time was no different. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Part Liberated Woman

An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t

Cheese Making

I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha

Under Advisement

Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that such calls tend to make me anxious. Depending on how far back we go, there are sets of FAQs that I brace myself to answer. The trick is to be sufficiently evasive without being downright offensive - a fine balancing act given the provocative nature of questions involved. I look at these calls as opportunities for building patience and tolerance both of which I seriously lack. Basically, they are very desirous of finding out how I am doing in my personal and professional life to be sure that they have me correctly categorized and filed for future reference. The major buckets appear to be loser, struggling, average, arrived, superstar and uncategorizable. My goal needless to say, is to be in the last bucket - the unknown, unquantifiable and therefore uninteresting entity. Their aim is to pull me into something more tangible. So anyways, the dude in ques