As I lay waste to this day; I wonder will I ever feel “good enough”?

I’m sure people that know me would question my sanity when they read that first sentence.

I work as a Project Manager in the Construction industry. I work long days, consume myself with every detail of the project, create scenarios in my head for possible issues that may arise and how to solve those problems quickly and efficeiently. Most would agree I’m very good at what I do. Except me.

My Boss asked me, “Do you know how to fail?”

I was taken back by the question… My response, “I’m not sure what you mean?”.

He said, “Do you know how to fail, how to fall down, how to accept defeat, how to grow from bad experiences?”

Wow… I really had to pause and ponder before I could generate the response.

Yes. I know how to fail. I’ve had plenty of failures. Two failed marriages. Failed experiences professionally in different fields that for obvious reasons were not a good fit for me. I feel like I fail daily as an ONLY parent. Failed diets. Failed exercise programs. Failed friendships and relationships. Failed financially at different times in my life; extending credit and being late on payments. Failed and flawed would definitely describe me in many circumstances over the past 30 years.

My Boss I know was speaking to the fact that I am EXTREMELY hard on myself, set unrealistic schedules, goals and demands and constantly feel like a failure when in his own words, “You are the best Project Manager I have ever had the pleasure to work with in this business.”

So why is it that I never feel “good enough”? Why do I demand such high expectations? What prevents me from shutting down the computer, not answering the work phone after the day is done and overall except some failure?

As I look back my desire to overachieve did NOT happen overnight.

I was not a scholar in High School. In fact I was a B/C student at best in basic math and accounting type of business curriculum.

I remember going into the guidance counselor’s office the first week of senior year for my “what are you going to do with the rest of your life” meeting with her in a claustrophobic office, her nose turned up and lips pursed as she told me, “I don’t think you are college material.”.

I left that office; tears in my eyes and went to my accounting class with Mrs. Baker. She must have been able to sense my discontentment as she requested I stay after class. I shared with her what the guidance counselor had said to me. She was appalled to say the least and pulled out a folder for a business college. She showed me true compassion and empathy. Up until that moment I felt incapable of making any type of decision regarding my future.

I took that folder home and discussed the Business College with my parents that evening; both had never went to college, had high school diplomas and my father had served five years in the US Navy as a Gunner’s Mate. My parents being a one income household, renting an apartment and my father supporting his alcohol addiction did not have funds to contribute to my college education. I could feel the hopelessness they expressed with their words that if I wanted to pursue a college education they would not be able to help me.

I was a standout basketball player; having schooled myself with men on the courts of the nearby towns and the community center open gyms. My hopes were tied to HOOPS. Alas being in a small farming town and the coaches niece playing the same position as me along with a knee injury prevented recruiters from reaching me. I attended many recruiting camps and showcases, received some division two offers but didn’t have the grades to get in academically to those college or the additional funds to help offset any potential scholarships athletically.

I was at a loss.

I decided at that point; what more did I have to lose? I applied; got accepted to the Business College and the icing on the cake was they had a basketball team; albeit a MENS basketball team. A few phone calls to the athletic director and the conference I was allowed to try out and play in a College program on a Men’s basketball team!

I started college early for summer semester; my apartment had the perfect view of the basketball court. I studied hard and hit the courts, the gym and played my heart out.

I made Dean’s List that first semester. My father who actually worked at the School District I had graduated from; returned to that Guidance Counselor’s office. He laid on her desk a copy of my Dean’s List letter. As she raised her head, he told her, “You told my daughter she wasn’t college material” and then walked out of her office.

Looking back; my perception of how I became this overachiever stems from my childhood. I constantly would seek my father’s love, approval and support. However the most I would find was him after his workday on the couch, with his cigarettes, beer and a book. You didn’t dare interrupt his evening routine or attempt to change the dial on the TV. You didn’t dare ask him not to go to the Legion and drink before attending your basketball game. You didn’t dare ask him to play with you outside, read a book to you, engage in conversation after he’s been home from work and drinking.

I learned avoidance at an early age. I learned how if I wanted any satisfaction for my achievements I would need to create that “Atta girl” somehow for myself. I learned that my mother as amazing of a woman that she is; would not be able to relate to me when it came to sports, academic achievements and career aspirations. I began to cherry pick what I could learn from my parents. I realized recognition and validation for any achievements would be hard found from my Father; a hard nosed, beer drinking, realist, conservative and at times absolutely stubbornly negative man. I set the bar so high thinking that one day he would soften his approach with me; hug me and tell me he sees me. That he would say he was proud of all I had overcome and achieved.

With my father; he didn’t provide participation validation. Even major success barely got response; sometimes he would lift his nose out of the book and make eye contact while lighting another cigarette and picking up his beer.

I know this may sound like I blame him for my inability to accept and appreaciate my achievements. I don’t blame him.

I blame the alcohol. The depression. The constant feelings he had of his own failures that clearly made him inadequate to express his emotions in a healthy, loving and appreciative manner. A once vibrant man, so intelligent and full of life, sheltered himself in his home or at the cabin, didn’t socialize or attend any events outside of the family birthdays my mother demanded his presence. His abilities to have conversation, debate and communicate with others became stunted at some point along the way. Only able to express negative thoughts and opinions due to his alcoholism and the effects on his personality.

I’m constantly seeking validation that I will NEVER be able to receive. My father succumbed to his Alcoholism with End Stage Liver Disease and Liver Cancer in August 2017.

It’s a failure that is impossible most days to accept but I have too. I have to be better, do better and keep grinding until the wheels fall off and I find myself in a puddle of tears; I collapse from the weight of never feeling “good enough”.

Children of alcoholics/addicts often are people pleasers and we judge our success on the ability to keep the peace, please everyone and achieve results that make others happy to receive validation.

As an ex-wife of an Alcoholic; I based my happiness and validation on the actions of my husband. I felt like a failure when I couldn’t get him to stop drinking and see the damage being done. I couldn’t cheer him up with a job promotion, more money, a campsite near his favorite lake, a new boat and a truck. None of my achievements for him were good enough.

Of course I realize those failures are not mine. They belong to others. I have to let them own that and cannot bear that weight anymore.

“Your success does not depend on the failure of others.”

~Omar suleiman~

As my mind had drifted from my Boss’s question to memories of past years and experiences; I pulled myself out of the foggy haze of pain and regret and was able to process my reply to him.

“I’m learning to accept failure in small doses.”