Guilt Complex

I have a guilty conscience.  Always have –which is strange because I have nothing to hide.  Well, I do, but unfortunately for all of you, I choose NOT to hide it.  I have never been able to lie.  If I do something wrong, I’m not able to pretend it didn’t happen.  First of all, it’s written all over my face.  Secondly, I will have to announce it.  I ate the last cookie!  I’m not really sick, I’m playing hooky!  I FARTED!!          

I think this trait drove my parents crazy.  They WISHED I would lie.  Is that your bottle of vodka under the bed?  Why, yes it is! Would you like some?  I don’t think Dr. Spock covered how to handle your underage daughter offering you alcohol.         

Unfortunately, I feel guilty about EVERYTHING.   Social situations are the worst – Toby and I have coined the term “Socializer’s Regret” for my 2 a.m. panic attacks about a joke I made the evening before.  What if I offended someone with what I said?  Or didn’t say?  Or thought about saying?  Maybe I made a funny face.  MAYBE MY EARINGS WERE OFFENSIVE!   I think this chronic worry and guilt must exude from me and make me appear Very Guilty because I’ve been accused of some awful stuff.         

Like my seventh grade Honors English teacher, Ms. Mathison (you better believe I’m calling you out, lady!) accusing me of plagiarizing a paper.  As it turns out, I can spin a good tale.  I don’t need to plagiarise so SUCK IT.  Apparently, I still have a little anger left over from that event…           

I had to take the SAT that same year (I don’t why…maybe to see if we were actually learning anything between then and graduation?) and the test monitor accused me of looking at other people’s tests.   I distinctly remember wanting to throw my booklet at her.  For a) I’m in seventh grade and could give a tiny rat’s ass what I got on my SAT score and for 2) you just told us all the tests are different – now you’re accusing me of being stupid enough to copy someone with entirely different test sections?  INDIGNANT!         

Another decade and a half of events like this helped me mold my guilt complex into art form, culminating in failing an FBI polygraph test.         

I was tired of my mechanical engineering career and spent well over a year going through the process of becoming a Special Agent in the FBI.  I took countless written tests, flew to Arizona for a panel interview, passed the fitness test and received my letter of appointment to Quantico.  The only thing left was a polygraph test and background check.  As you can imagine, that went swimmingly.         

For starters, the guy was irritated that he couldn’t get any white lies out of me – apparently this is part of the calibration procedure.  When asked if I’d ever lied or stolen or whatnot, of course I answered YES.  People, pens and post-it notes from work would sometimes end up in my house.  In my mind, that’s STEALING.  So then I had to have a moral discussion with the FBI employee administering the test.  He kept trying to clarify that I hadn’t stolen anything big, as in paper clips don’t count, WOMAN.  But I refused to say I had never stolen because that would be a lie.  I don’t care if it’s a five cent pen, IT WASN’T MINE.          

Bad start.          

By the end of this SIX HOUR ORDEAL, I was a drug runner.  There was a lot of questioning about my many trips to Mexico and Central and South America.  After being in that tiny windowless room for hours answering questions regarding the reasons for my travels, even I was convinced that I was a drug runner.   Or at least I might have known someone who had a friend who had a brother who, for two seconds, considered drug trafficking as a viable job opportunity.  And just the thought of that made me feel extremely guilty.         

So my letter of appointment to Quantico was rescinded and now I have an FBI file on me because I failed a polygraph.  Me.   The one who can’t lie.  AWESOME.  And just for the record, I am not, and never have been, a drug runner.  I’M TOO BUSY WITH MY ASSASSIN JOB.         

That was all an obscenely long introduction to illustrate that my guilt complex has affected my life in numerous negative ways.   And now I’m a mom.  Being a mom is easily the most guilt-ridden job in the world.   I am currently 100% in charge of my child’s health, happiness and education.  And if things don’t turn out, who do they blame?  THE MOM.   Ayeyiyi.   I wish I still had that bottle of vodka under the bed!         

This new Avenue of Guilt really opened up this past week because I took a couple of trips without Roper.   First we went to Sportbike NW, a motorcycle rally in the Gorge, for three days and left Roper with his Oma.  He was having a blast playing at Crescent Bar, but I couldn’t help feeling entirely irresponsible.  In fact, it really affected my riding for the first day – I was a total train wreck!  All I could think about was how guilty I would feel if I crashed and injured myself and wasn’t able to care for Roper.  Luckily, the roads were so fun and twisty that it took every ounce of my concentration just to stay on the bike…so I had to wait until the evening to wallow in my guilt.         

On Wednesday, I hiked to Windy Pass (GORGEOUS!) with two of my friends.  I left Roper with my parents the night before, since we were going to hit the trailhead early.  As I was putting Roper in their car he started fussing.  YES, it was probably because I banged his head on the door trying to wrestle him into the car, but it felt like he was crying because I was leaving him again.  This made me come absolutely UNGLUED.          

Toby, who for unknown reasons still answers my phone calls, picked up the receiver to hear ragged sobbing and undecipherable babbling about how I was the WORST MOM EVER.  People, I cried the entire way home.   Which then put me in a panic about whether or not I was entering another bout of depression – we’ve slain that dragon a time or two.          

On both the motorcycle and hiking trips, I EVENTUALLY realized that it’s imperative that I take time off from being a mom.  It’s the best thing for me and for Roper.  Having a sane mom who leaves him behind every once in a while is much better than having a resentful mom who desperately wishes she could have her old life back.  Will I always feel guilty when I leave Roper behind?  Of course – I’m me.  Is it worth it?  ABSOLUTELY!         

A scenic view of Mt. Adams on one of our rides down in the Gorge.

Peeking over the top of Windy Pass

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