Tamarah Rockwood

My reality has to include social anxiety, because I have had social anxiety for as long as I can remember. School programs, football stadiums, parades, large parties . . . hell, even small parties. I would rather not. To the point that I will simply not attend. Not because I can’t handle it; I can. I just don’t enjoy the crowds, and I don’t enjoy my reaction to the crowds. I get bitchy and impatient, mostly with myself, and I actually don’t like being bitchy and impatient.

"Do not underestimate the idea of studying in Slovenia. Their tuition is free, their cost of living is reasonable and they have an incredible amount of programs available for American students."

You really, seriously wanted this week to be different!

My house is a mess, my patience is hardly a composure I explore regularly, and there are times when I feel like I am the biggest failure in the history of modern motherhood. Some days I’m just shooting for a participation trophy. There is no award for ignoring the laundry until everyone is out of underwear, or letting my 3-year-old watch Mulan 3 times before lunch. Did I mention I take my kids to McDonald’s once a week?

I don’t like my old friend Guilt very much. We are not BFFs. She smells funny, and I don’t appreciate her company.

"Impostor Syndrome is the unwanted caboose on the train of motherhood. It is the trailing thoughts that give you the absurd ideas that you are a fraud."

I just wonder. . . if my daughter came home one day and said she couldn’t have a job because she was too old, how would that be right?