I Don’t Recognize Myself

I look in the mirror, and I don’t recognize myself.

I hear myself yell at my kids at the end of the day, and I don’t recognize myself.

I hear myself try to talk to other parents, and I don’t recognize myself.

I glance at my body as I shower, and I don’t recognize myself.

I hear myself complain about every other driver on the road, and I don’t recognize myself.

I try to play basketball, and I don’t recognize myself.

I pant while I run down the street, and I don’t recognize myself.

I use politically correct phrases, and I don’t recognize myself.

I second guess every Doctor making decisions about my family, and I don’t recognize myself.

I go to bed silent but wanting to open up, and I don’t recognize myself.

I say things to my kids that I never want to say, and I don’t recognize myself.

I attempt to uncover a hobby, and I don’t recognize myself.

The worst part? I don’t like the wrinkly skin I see, the crazy lady yelling, the socially-awkward lady scrambling for conversation, the cellulite, the constant complainer, the fragile old lady, the lady that has let her athletic body go to pots, the chicken, the doubter, the loner, the Mom I’ve never wanted to be, nor the couch potato.  I’m not happy with my reflection... the physical, mental and spiritual being that I see    in the mirror.

The more worst part?? I know ways to fix it, but I choose to work all night, have soda for breakfast and watch tv while constantly being disappointed. 

Aye, aye, aye...