Unworthy

I’ve always been an anxious person. I like to think it’s because I’m an optimist, who is always prepared for the worst, rather than because I have a chemical imbalance. And before last summer, it was for the most part a helpful quirk in my life. My anxiety ensured that I did well in school, was a great employee and a conscientious friend. It gave me a bonding point for fellow anxiety-ridden peers, and though it did prevent me from maintaining some friendships, I’ve realized that those friendships weren’t good for me anyway.

It’s only been since I’ve been blessed with my Angel, that the anxiety is transforming itself to this overwhelming paranoia that not only am I so completely not worthy of raising such a beautiful, intelligent, amazing little life, but that God is going to figure out that a mistake was made when she was given to me, and take away my baby.

And I know, am I really so important that God would take notice of me? And my child? Probably not, but I can’t help worrying … constantly .. that something bad is going to happen to her. I look back at my life so far and think of all the people I’ve hurt, physically and emotionally, and all the lies I’ve told, and things I’ve stolen, and just generally seeing my past in this hazy fog of selfishness and deceit, and I feel so incredibly ashamed of myself and of my past. I’m ashamed of the things I’ve done, and the things that have been done to me, and I don’t want to taint her with my disgrace.

And if all of this is true, then maybe she’s my saving grace. Maybe she was given to me to help me stop doing all those dumb-shit things, like drinking (even just a little bit) and driving, And opening myself up to get hurt in relationships. But I don’t want to weigh her down with those expectations either. I don’t want her to feel like she has to save me. It’s not her job to make me happy, though she does every time I think about her smiling face, and I hope not to cry too much when she drives a rusty spork through my heart with her “Mom. Don’t embarrass me!” when I try to give her a kiss in front of her friends.

I know these are ridiculous worries, but it just seems so odd that without even making an effort (okay, so it was an … exertion, but a very enjoyable one) P and I were able to create this life together. And so many people struggle for years to get pregnant, going through medical procedures over and over again, the waiting and worrying, then disappointment only to do it again the next month.

And we were just having fun.

I don’t know where I’m going with this anymore. I suppose a part of me feels guilty for having Taryn when so many people want children more than we did at the moment she was conceived. And though I love her more than anything else, and will love her unconditionally until the day I die, I just don’t feel like I deserve her.

But I am damn proud of her. And I’ll be eternally grateful that she chose me as her mommy.