Last night I finally got around to hanging some pictures that I had been meaning to put up for weeks. As is my tendency, I did a shoddy job and they came out crooked. I could have told you this would happen beforehand. There are lots of things I do well: singing, writing emo blog posts, math in my head, etc. Hanging pictures does not number among those things.
That, of course, is my reflection on last night’s events in the light of day. Immediately after standing back and seeing that my kitchen now looked like a third grader decorated it, I went off the deep end, crying and yelling at myself for being a domestic failure who is destined to live in squalor the rest of my life.
In truth, the last few months have involved a lot of that: beating myself up over little mistakes and disappointments. The tape that has been playing in my head does not say very nice things.
I know that I’m not the only person who does this, so I’m asking all of you, wiser than I, what makes us be so mean to ourselves? Do I yell at myself so that no one else can do it first? Am I scared of being happy? Am I channeling all of my stress into life’s minutia, like hanging picture frames?
Why do we beat ourselves up?