Here’s the story:
1. I drank a lot on the Fourth of July.
2. I rarely drink excessively.
3. Two or more cocktails are known to make me pretty hyper-goofy-crazy-wild-funny (Or so I believe. Maybe others see me as stupid-obnoxious-loud-ridiculous-annoying).
4. I had a blast.
5. I’m a terrible mother.
I’ve had Shame Gremlins whispering in my ear, all day long…”You are a bad mother. What kind of mom gets intoxicated with her kids around? Good mothers remain in control; aware and alert; sober. Shame on you, Jackie. You fucked up. What are some of those party-goers thinking about you now? What are they saying? Do you have any idea how harshly you are being judged right now?”
All day, I unconvincingly force-fed my mind the self-compassionate remarks I know I am supposed to lovingly tell myself (except mine came out monotone and not loving at all). “You are not a bad mom. You are entitled to let loose once in a while. You didn’t commit a sin. This one incident of ‘bad judgment’ doesn’t make you an irresponsible mother. How often do you do this? NEVER. Why do you care what others might say or think? Your kids aren’t even aware that you were not sober. You weren’t sloppy-falling-over-slurring drunk. You were just happier-crazier-wilder-goofier-funnier than usual. Stop beating yourself up. You didn’t commit a crime. You didn’t hurt anyone or endanger your children. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are not a sinner. You are a good person. It’s okay.”
Everything I read; everything I preach; all of my life’s mottos and mantras…I know I should put them into practice at this very minute. These are the times that I’m supposed to remember to:
Forgive yourself and forgive the past as Iyanla Vanzant suggests.
Nurture yourself with self-compassion and self-love as Brené Brown recommends.