Day #1 – Something You Hate About Yourself
Something I Hate About Myself
Hate is such a strong word. I really only reserve the word “hate” for gay-bashing Republicans and people who harm children. There are quite a few things I dislike about myself, but it’s always easy to pick one, because it’s the one that causes me the most stress.
I’m a germophobe. Well, the truth is I’m partially a germophobe. I can go to hospitals and shake people’s hands and be in public with my kids and watch them play on the play structure without having an anxiety attack (about the germs – but anxiety about them crashing to the ground is there in spades). BUT, I will make my children wash their hands, use hand sanitizer, or at least baby wipe their hands down after being at the playground or store or wherever we have been that day. I make them wash their hands when we walk in the house after having been out, and I try and make sure I have something to wipe them down with if we are going to eat while we are out, so they at least have semi-clean hands to eat with.
I am fanatical about the kitchen. It drives my wife crazy. I will follow behind her and clean up the counters and sink after she’s prepped chicken for dinner. I get after her if she doesn’t wash her hands after handling eggs. I won’t eat pink beef. Leftovers get maybe 2 days in my house before heading to the trash. All of this has caused many an argument between us.
In reality, I’m a selective germophobe. If it can kill someone or cause vomiting, I do everything to steer clear. Stomach flu? Stand over there, WAAAAAY over there. For like, 2 weeks. Food poisoning is a huge concern. H1N1 just about ended me. And it’s not me I generally worry about, not anymore; it’s the kids.
I know a huge part of this is about control. Or rather, the lack of it. And it’s been a part of me since I was little. Nervous nailbiter by 4, first stomach problems cropped up at 11, parents dumped me off at a psychiatrist’s office right about the same time the stomach problems started. I’m a worrier. And not just about illness. I worry about a lot of things I can’t control. But I do my absolute best to make sure that worry does not stop me from doing the things I want to do, or letting the kids experience things that kids should experience.
I’m a germophobe. I’m a fan of Clo.rox wipes, antibacterial hand soap, and daily baths for the kids. I quarantined H the last time she had a stomach virus and hospital disinfected our bedroom and bathrooms after she was better. I will worry if we’ve hung out recently and then I find out you’ve fallen ill right after. I’ve learned though, to mostly keep my concerns to myself.
It sucks. And even when I was on anti-depressants it didn’t go away. And I do everything and anything I can to fight it from becoming an issue for my kids. I don’t expect to be able to change how I feel about it, but I don’t want to make my children germophobes as a result. Careful, clean, conscientious, but not worriers like their Momma.
It’s not the only thing I dislike about myself. But it’s probably the biggest thing. And now I’m going to go wash my hands. (Just kidding. Maybe.)